Racecars, Jane Austen and the Monon Trail
by AmyI
Summary: When Katie Embury moves to the big city she only hopes to find a job and learn how to be a real adult. But when a big red dog and a handsome man who looks alarmingly like Mr. Darcy arrive on the scene things don't go exactly as planned. Modern NA.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"You've got to be kidding."

I stared at Bob – or, rather, now that I was no longer his employee, Uncle Bob -- and tried to figure out if I was having a bad dream. He hadn't just fired me, had he? Can you fire your own niece and still expect to be invited to Sunday dinner? I'd have to ask Mom about that.

"I'm sorry, Katie, but you've seen how bad the real estate market is. You know that I've been thinking about retiring for a long time now, and when I found a buyer for the building it seemed like a good time to shut down the business. Who knows when another sap would fall into my lap?"

He was right, of course. The real estate business that he'd launched before I was born had been steadily losing agents for a while now, until finally it was just the two of us – Bob showing houses and me doing everything else. "That's okay," I said as cheerfully as I could. "I'll miss you when you're off in Arizona sunning yourself with all the other old farts down there."

"Don't let your aunt know you called her that." Bob smiled apologetically and sat down in the only chair in the reception area. "She's been looking forward to retirement since we got rid of the kids."

I laughed in spite of myself. "You may have mentioned that a few times over the years. How long do I have before you close the door for the last time?"

His eyes slid away guiltily. "Not very long, I'm afraid."

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edges of the desk. "How long, Uncle?"

Bob looked up at the ceiling. "About two hours."

I just shook my head at him. It was a wonder he ever sold a house.

"The guy called me this morning wanting to know if he could take possession tonight. Something about impressing his mother. Or maybe it was his girlfriend. Anyway, since we're in between projects at the moment . . . " He got that dreamy expression that always meant he'd just pulled a good deal.

After he ambled back to his desk I sank back in my chair and tried to think. I'd been working for Bob since I graduated from college three years before, and I'd only done that because I couldn't find another job. Well, the fact that I'd majored in General Studies might have had something to do with that, but who's keeping track?

As I thought about my current job options (there weren't any; after all, Vincennes, Indiana wasn't exactly a booming metropolis, despite what my father said) I glanced at the book on my desk and flipped through it idly. What would Elizabeth Bennet do in my situation?

Well, actually, she'd never find herself in this position, a little voice in my mind said smugly. She'd probably have known what she wanted to do with her life from the moment she could talk. And on the off-chance that she didn't, she certainly would have had it all figured out by the time she finished high school. I put the book back on my desk and started packing my belongings in the box Bob had thoughtfully left for me before he'd disappeared. I made sure to place my dog-eared copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ on top – just in case I needed it.

I thought about Elizabeth Bennet on my way home that afternoon. I'd tried to major in English so I'd have a legitimate reason to read my favorite book, but unfortunately the English department wasn't centered around Jane Austen. Who thought it was a good idea for English majors to read books that hadn't even been written in English, anyway? I couldn't see myself reading Tolstoy or Dostoevsky or (shudder) Kafka, so I changed my major, much to my parents' chagrin. I still read _Pride and Prejudice_, though. A lot. And usually when I was supposed to be doing something else.

When I pulled into the driveway of my parents' house my brother Oliver was waiting for me in the front yard. He looked very serious, and it seemed strange on his usually cheery face. "Hey, Katie," he said, walking over to help me with the box I'd stuffed in the trunk. "Uncle Bob called an hour ago. I'm sorry you got fired."

I grabbed my book out of the box before he could carry it away and followed him toward the door. "I didn't get fired; Uncle Bob went out of business. There's a big difference. And I probably should have seen it coming," I said morosely. "He stopped selling houses a few years ago and focused on the buyers instead. When the last family closed on their home a few weeks ago there was really not a whole lot to do."

"Well, I'm still sorry. What're you going to do now?"

"She's going to go up to her room and read her precious book." Josie peered out of the front door and laughed when she saw my expression. "Come on, you know you do that when something happens to you. You read that stupid thing for three months straight the first time you couldn't find a job. And now you'll do it again. How does it feel to be fired by your own family?"

I scowled at her and tried to hide the book in my bag. "I didn't get fired," I said a little louder than I'd planned. "Bob shut down the agency." When Josie was born they told me that she'd be my very best friend before I knew it, but that was fourteen years ago. Obviously that only applies when the younger sister isn't eleven years your junior – and an accident to begin with.

Josie smirked at me. "So you were made redundant? That's even better."

She stuck out her tongue when the clod of dirt I threw at her missed. "Very ladylike," I told her. "Are Mom and Dad home?"

"They're in the kitchen, talking about you." She looked at me appraisingly. "I thought you'd be a lot more upset about being fired," she said, staring at me critically. "Your eyes aren't even red. Haven't you been crying at all?"

"Go away, Josie."

The pout on her face didn't affect me at all. "I'll tell Mom you were mean to me," she whined, but when Oliver looked at her warningly she turned on her toes and waltzed back inside, letting the screen door slap shut behind her.

I sat on the porch steps and leaned back to look up at the trees surrounding our house. Oliver put the box next to the front door and sat next to me. It was quiet for a long time.

"You seem awfully serious for a change," I said finally when it was obvious he was just going to sit there. "What's up with you? I know you're devastated about my job – " he snorted – "but that's no reason for you to be so down in the dumps."

"You'll find another job. Maybe even one where the boss doesn't ask you to pick up his dry cleaning on the weekends."

I smiled up at the trees. There were certain things about working for Uncle Bob that I wouldn't miss.

"I'm touched that you're so concerned about me," I told him, leaning farther back onto the porch, "but something else is wrong. Usually you're bouncing off the walls or pulling some stupid prank. Did your reputation get to Butler before you did, and they decided you were too big a risk to allow into their MBA program?"

"Very funny. I'll have you know that nothing I've ever done has landed me in jail. Annoyed a few people, maybe, but nothing illegal."

"The only reason Mom and Dad never had to bail you out of prison was because you always managed to talk yourself out of trouble."

He shrugged, and I could hear the smugness in his voice. "When you're good, you're good," he conceded. "But really, I heard today that my housing plans have fallen through."

"What happened?"

Oliver sighed heavily. "The building burned down last night."

"Oh. That's bad."

"You got that right."

I watched the wind ruffle his blonde hair. No matter what he did with it, it always stuck straight up. Not even the wind could make it lie flat for long. "Well, I guess I'd better come up with something," he said finally, getting to his feet. "School starts next week, and unless I want to commute every day I'll need to figure out a plan. Who knows? The answer to both our problems could be right around the corner."

I'd just opened my mouth to tell him I thought he was being overly optimistic when the sound of tires screeching around a corner made me look up. A yellow car was careening toward our driveway. It didn't slow down until it was ten feet away, and then the car bounced over the curb and skidded to a halt.

"Did you know George and Bea were coming tonight?" I asked Oliver as a beaming couple emerged from the dust. They were both dressed in yellow shirts, and Bea had obviously just had her hair done to match the car. It was like seeing the Man in the Yellow Hat after he'd been dipped in butter – a strange thing, since their last name was Butterworth.

"They're here!" Josie came barreling down the steps, narrowly missing my hand, before she flung herself at Bea. "Uncle George! Aunt Bea! I thought you'd never get here!"

Bea laughed and kissed Josie on the cheek. "We left right after we called your folks," George said from behind his wife. "I wanted to take the car out one last time before we left so I'd have something to remember while we're in the wilds of Japan." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at the dust settling on the hood.

"They have cars in Japan, George," Oliver pointed out, grinning for the first time that afternoon.

"Just because I'm not really your uncle doesn't mean you can sass me back, boy," George said, jabbing Oliver in the ribs. "Walk my poor old bones up the stairs and tell me about your studies. I thought about being a businessman myself at one point."

Josie looked pointedly at Bea. "Didn't you tell me there would be something in the back seat for me?" she asked, craning her neck to look around Bea's shoulder.

"Is that why we got such a warm welcome? Go ahead, it's in there." Josie squealed and darted around the car, leaving me to walk with Bea toward the house in relative peace.

"I read that your namesake's been in some trouble recently," Bea told me after she'd put her arm through mine. "Something about crazy parties and shifty boys."

I rolled my eyes at her and wished, not for the first time, that my parents had named me anything but Katie. "If we didn't share a name no one would compare us," I pointed out. "Even if we have the same birthday and look slightly alike."

"That's probably true," she agreed complacently, "but there are two Katie Emburys in Indiana, and the other one happens to be the Senator's flighty daughter. I'd tell you to change your name but I'm pretty sure you like the one you've got, even though you complain about it."

She was right, of course. I'd been trying to think of alternate names since I first became aware that there was another, more famous version of myself out there, but nothing clicked. (I had, of course, considered Elizabeth Jane Embury, but the fallout from my sister and the rest of the Austen-reading crowd may be a bit much. Still, it was tempting . . .)

"Maybe I'll color my hair," I said thoughtfully as we walked into the house. "Then at least we won't look so similar."

"That would be a good idea if the other Katie didn't change _her_ hair every other week," Mom pointed out as she came forward to hug us. "Isn't the latest color blonde, Bea?"

"How do you know that?" Mom never read the tabloids. She didn't even watch television all that much – except for criminal Thursdays.

"Bea keeps me informed." She winked wickedly at her best friend. "I like to know what I'm missing. Now, what's this about Bob shutting down the agency? I thought he was going to wait another year."

Bea looked between us, one eyebrow raised. I'd been trying to train my own eyebrow to do that for years, with no luck. "Did you lose your job today, honey?"

Wrenching my gaze away from her lone eyebrow still hovering in the middle of her forehead, I nodded dejectedly. "'Fraid so."

Bea got a delighted smile on her face. "But that's the best thing I've heard all day!" she cried, clapping her hands like a two-year-old. "Just wait 'til I tell George. He'll be thrilled."

I stared at her, wondering if she'd had too much caffeine on their trip here. "I think you need to lie down," Mom said after a second, and started steering her into the living room. "The sun must have gotten to you again."

Bea just shook her off and headed for the kitchen. "We'll tell you our plans over dinner," she called over her shoulder happily. "Fancy that! Katie lost her job today, of all days!"

Mom and I just stood there for a minute, trying to figure out what had just happened. "I don't get it," I said finally. "I know you've known her since kindergarten, Mom, but really. Should she be allowed to go to a foreign country and teach English to those poor unsuspecting souls? Heaven only knows what she might teach them to say."

Mom shook herself slightly and focused on me. "In all our years together, I've come to understand one thing," she said firmly. "Bea's head is screwed on straighter than she lets on. If she acts strangely, she usually has a reason for it." With that she left me in the hallway to see to dinner.

I watched Bea all through the meal, wondering if Mom was right about her. She sat next to Josie, who scowled every time Bea spoke to her. That was due, I was pretty sure, to the fact that the "present" they'd brought her had turned out to be a Barbie doll. The look on Josie's face when she'd stomped into the house had been priceless – as had Bea's response. "I could have sworn you were the right age for this," she'd stated, looking at Josie critically. "After all, you act the part of the baby of the family to perfection." That had made Josie stop whining, although she sent dark looks in our guests' direction whenever she thought they weren't looking.

It wasn't until everyone had pushed their empty plates back before George and Bea got to business. "I'm sure you're wondering what we're doing here with such short notice," George began, "but we find ourselves in a bit of a bind and were wondering if you could help us out."

"Anything," Dad said. "You know we'll do whatever we can to help."

George smiled at him. "I know you would, Ted, and Sally, you too. But what we really need is your children's help."

Josie looked mutinous, but Oliver and I snapped to attention. What could an unemployed girl and her college-student brother possibly have that the Butterworths needed?

"You know, of course, that Bea and I head for Japan in a few days," George went on. "And that we're planning on staying there for a year or so. Well, we thought we had someone lined up to take care of the house, but we found out this morning that she's decided to become an actress and is moving to Hollywood to wait for her big break."

Oliver and I glanced at each other. Was he thinking what I was?

"So we wanted to ask you if you'd consider staying in our house during your time at Butler, Oliver," Bea said. "I know you've probably already fixed on a place to live, but we're not that far from campus – you could even ride your bike when the weather's nice."

Oliver's grin showed his back molars. "I'd love to," he said happily. "As it turns out, my living arrangements have altered a little in the past few hours."

"Excellent." George and Bea beamed at each other. "Now, Oliver, I hope you won't take offense at this, but we know how young men live when they're away from their mothers. Since Katie is in between jobs right now, we'd like to ask her to come, too, and make sure the house doesn't get trashed. Of course, if you find a nice boy while you're there, we'd understand if you wanted to get married and move out," Bea added.

I blinked at her for a second, not sure if I should be grateful for the invitation or disturbed that she thought I would be looking for a husband. "It'll probably be easier to find a job in Indianapolis," George put in, watching me closely. "It _is_ a little bigger than Vincennes."

Why was I hesitating? It wasn't like opportunities like this fell out of the sky every day. "I can move in tomorrow," I told them, smiling almost as big as Oliver. "But I don't think I'll be looking for a soul mate while I'm there."

Bea waved her hand dismissively in the air. "You never know," she said. "Stranger things have happened."

"Wait just a minute." Mom was looking a little panicked. "You can't take two of my children away from me at once."

Not this again. Part of the reason I hadn't moved out yet was because Mom tended to hyperventilate whenever the idea came up. If I was very honest with myself, though, I didn't bring it up all that often. The world was a scary place, and a decent percentage of the scary stuff tended to happen to young blondes. At least it seemed that way to me. But for some reason, the idea of living with Oliver didn't sound too threatening. As long as I could convince him to put away his dirty socks. And wash the dishes more than once a year.

"Sally, it's time they left." Dad took her hand in his and looked at her compassionately. "And if anything happens, we're only two hours away." Mom just stared at him before she burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Dad sighed and got to his feet. "I'll go after her," he said, then turned to me and Oliver. "Don't worry; she'll come around. But it might help if Katie leaves tomorrow, as she said, and Oliver follows in a week or so. That way she'll have a few days to get used to the idea." Then he left, rubbing the bald spot on top of his head like he did whenever something wasn't running smoothly.

I stared at my plate, feeling slightly guilty for making my own mother feel so terrible. Bea reached across the table and patted my hand gently. "Don't worry," she said, repeating Dad's words. "It had to happen sooner or later, and it's much better that you move out now than the day you get married."

Why did she keep bringing up marriage? I wasn't against the idea, but it seemed like I should be the one to decide when to tie the knot, not my aunt-by-adoption. I decided to let it pass.

"Is there anything else you want us to do while you're gone?" I asked.

"Besides keeping Oliver's friends from tee meeing our house, you mean?"

"I think you mean teepeeing, Aunt Bea." This was the first thing Josie had said all evening, and her voice sounded small and depressed.

"Whatever. I don't want my trees covered in toilet paper. Am I understood?" The look she gave Oliver would have frozen a very brave man.

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a cheeky grin and saluted her.

"George will draw you a map to the house," she told me, "and we'll see you in the morning. Bring whatever you need; we have two spare bedrooms for you to use, so don't worry about furniture. And Mr. Poppikins will be thrilled to meet you."

"Mr. Poppikins?" I asked faintly. Somehow this didn't sound promising. Had she already lined me up with one of the neighbors?

Bea rifled through her purse for a minute before placing it on the table with a thump. "I must have left my wallet on the kitchen table again," she told George. "You'd better drive home."

"I was planning on it."

"Mr. Poppikins is our dog," Bea said, a motherly smile on her face. "He's the sweetest little thing. I just know you three will be the best of friends while we're gone. We thought about taking him with us, but Japan is so close to Korea. I didn't want to ruin his sleep, wondering if he'd end up on some family's dinner table. He'd be beside himself with worry the entire time we were there."

I opened my mouth to say that was highly unlikely, but caught Oliver's expression and closed it again. It said, quite plainly, 'Don't argue. There's no way you can win this discussion.'

***

An hour later the Butterworths were gone and I was packing my clothes in my room. Mom had come out of hiding long enough to tell George and Bea goodbye, and then she and Dad had disappeared again. When there was a knock at the door I assumed it was her.

Instead Josie came in, closing the door quietly behind her. She sank onto the bed and drew her knees up to her chin, watching me throw things out of the closet.

"If you're here to steal my clothes before they make it into my suitcase, think again," I told her, pulling things off hangers. "I know where you live, after all, and I'm not afraid to come back and reclaim what's mine."

When there was no response I poked my head out the door and tried to catch her eye. "Josie?"

She met my gaze, and I was shocked to see tears creeping down her cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want you to go,' she wailed, throwing herself on top of the clothes littering the bed and burying her face in a pillow. "I wish you'd never been fired. Then you wouldn't have a reason to leave. It'll be so lonely here all by myself."

"I wasn't fired!" This was really starting to get old.

"Whatever."

I stood there for a minute, wondering what I should do and resisting a horrible urge to laugh. "You never cared where I was before," I said cautiously, sitting next to her and patting her shaking back. "What's changed in the past two hours?"

She hiccoughed loudly and wiped her face on the sleeve of my favorite blouse. "I know I give you a lot of grief," she sniffed, "but when you and Oliver leave it'll be just me, alone with the parents. Dad's not too bad; he has classes to prepare for and high school students to threaten, so he mostly leaves me alone. But Mom'll drive me crazy. Can't I come with you? I promise I'll clean up after myself."

All of a sudden I understood what one of my friends had said when she was preparing to go home for the summer after a tough semester at college. She had several younger siblings, and she told me that she'd never really appreciated them until she'd moved away and left them behind. Maybe Josie was feeling a little bit like that, only from the other end of the spectrum.

"You know as well as I do that if all three of us moved away at the same time Mom would have to be institutionalized."

Josie clutched the pillow to her chest and refused to look at me.

"Why don't you come to visit after a month or so? Don't you get a fall break in October?"

This didn't make her any happier. "They won't let me go," she said morosely. "They have this ridiculous idea about grades. If I don't get straight As like you and Oliver did they blow a fuse."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Then I'll tell you what. You do your best at your schoolwork, and if you do decently on your midterm grading I'll convince Dad to let you come for a long weekend. Without Mom."

Josie froze, then threw her arms around my neck. "Really? Do you really mean it? I could survive the next two months if I knew there was something to look forward to."

I laughed quietly at her excitement and ruffled her hair. "I promise. Now, if you don't mind, I need to finish packing. Even though I love you, I'm not leaving my clothes here for you to ruin while I'm gone."

Josie giggled, and we spent the rest of the evening talking about boys (there were several that had caught her eye) and planning her trip to Indianapolis.

The next morning, after a teary farewell from my Mom and a more subdued one from my Dad, I was on my way, following the map George had drawn for me the night before. As long as my ancient car didn't break down on the way, this might very well turn out to be the thing I'd been dreaming about since graduating. And with Jane Austen by my side, how could I go wrong?

I was ready to face the world. Well, at least Mr. Poppikins.

**Author's note**: Well, here it is! I hope you like my modern version of Catherine Morland. She may be a little out of character but since I wasn't that keen on the original that was kind of the point.

A special thanks to Linnea who agreed to put up with me again, and to CJ, who has proven to be a most excellent research assistant. As always, reviews are welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Unfortunately, not even Jane Austen could figure out George's map.

By the time I finally admitted to myself that I was lost, and had been lost for quite some time, it was past lunch and I was starting to think that moving to Indianapolis was not quite the grand adventure I'd been expecting. I'd been driving around the circle downtown (on my third circuit I found out it was named Monument Circle, due no doubt to the statue in the middle that kept me from seeing where I was going) for almost half an hour before the car made a terrible sound and I pulled over, resting my head on the steering wheel. The last thing I needed was for my car to break down in the middle of a giant circular road. Who puts a huge roundabout right in the center of a city and expects people to figure out where they are, anyway? Everything starts to look the same after passing it three or four times. It made me dizzy just thinking about it.

Before too long there was a sharp rap on the window. My head slipped from the steering wheel and hit the horn, which started blaring. "Ma'am, you can't park here." A police officer who seemed too young to be telling anyone what to do frowned sternly and pointed to the sign posted above the car. "I'm afraid you'll have to move."

I lifted my head and rolled down the window, intending to tell him that I wasn't technically parked, since the car was still running, when he leaned closer and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for being so brusque, ma'am," he said in a confiding tone. "My superior officer was watching, and I wanted to make sure he knew I meant business." He cleared his throat again. "Are you lost? You don't have Indianapolis license plates, and you look a little frazzled."

Smiling weakly, I handed him George's map. "I was supposed to be at George and Bea's an hour and a half ago," I told him, trying to ignore the headache that had been steadily building since crossing the city line. "It seems my friend wasn't meant to be a cartographer."

He squinted at the series of squiggles and lines that were supposed to indicate roads and frowned thoughtfully. "You wouldn't be referring to George and Bea Butterworth, would you?"

"I am." I was really hoping the Butterworths hadn't been in any legal trouble. Sure, they were my parents' best friends and we'd seen them pretty regularly over the years, but why else would they be on a first-name basis with a police officer?

"Now that's some coincidence. I live down the street from them." He turned the map over and scribbled something. "Follow these directions and you'll be there in twenty minutes, tops. I'd tell you to stop by my house and meet my wife but it sounds like you're running late."

I could have hugged him right then and there. "Thanks so much, Officer . . . "

He immediately stuck his hand through the window to shake mine. "Fredericks. I know your name is Katie Embury," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"And how did you figure that out?"

"I noticed it was written on the other side of your paper." He seemed very pleased with his sleuth work. Straightening, he cleared his throat for the third time (by now I was counting) and said in a more normal tone, "Once you get settled in, walk on down for a chat. We're the white house at the far end of the street. Since the baby was born we don't get a whole lot of outside stimulation."

"I really appreciate the help," I said sincerely, vowing to make the Fredericks cookies as soon as George and Bea had left the country and were out of the way. "I'll stop by soon."

He waved and walked off, narrowly missing the street sign he'd pointed out to me only a few minutes before. He quickly sidestepped it and glanced back at me, giving me an embarrassed sort of smile. I looked down at his notes. At the bottom he'd written in large, underlined letters, _The house is yellow. You can't miss it._

The car started making the same noises it had on the circle a mile or so from the Butterworth's house, and I clenched the steering wheel as tightly as I could in a vain attempt to make it cooperate. It held on, but only barely, rolling to a gasping, smoky halt in front of their mailbox.

George and Bea were outside waiting for me. "We've been so worried about you!" Bea cried, rushing forward and throwing her arms around me when I climbed out of the car. "Where in the world have you been?"

I didn't really want to tell George that his maps left a little to be desired, so I just shrugged and extricated myself from her grasp. It felt good to be out of the car -- even though I was beginning to think I might never get back in. "I explored downtown," I said vaguely, looking around. They'd purchased this house six months or so ago, and I hadn't seen it yet. Now I knew why Officer Fredericks had written that addendum at the bottom of his note.

The house was indeed yellow – as yellow as George's car, Bea's hair, and both of their shirts. It screamed that someone very fond of bananas – or butter – had painted first it and then everything surrounding it. Yellow flowers lined the driveway; yellow bushes nestled under the front windows; and yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze. They even had a yellow mailbox to match.

"This is very . . . " Not sure what to say and still remain both truthful and polite, I let my words trail off.

"Gorgeous?" Bea looked fondly at her home, pride oozing from her pores. "We had most of the exterior redecorated over the past few months. It's just too bad we're leaving before we can really get started on the inside."

I nodded dumbly and swore to myself that I wouldn't buy so much as a stick of butter while I lived there. Then I thought of the cookies I'd planned to make for the neighbors. Well, maybe I could buy some. But I sure wouldn't eat it.

George stood frowning at the car during our conversation. "You'll have to get this fixed," he said absently, popping the hood and looking inside. A puff of nasty-smelling smoke floated up and enveloped his head. He coughed and waved his hat in the air in a vain attempt to clear it. "Until then, you'd better use mine. I'd feel much better if I knew you were in something a little more reliable than this." He slammed the hood shut again and dusted his hands off. "I'll get Officer Fredericks to help me push it in the garage, and you just put your keys away until we come back."

"I couldn't use your car," I protested. "You love that thing."

He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. "I promised your mother we'd take good care of you," he told me, "and this is part of the package. And before you start making noises about insurance, I'll take care of it in the morning. So do it to make me happy."

I smiled up at him and nodded. "If you insist."

"Here's my baby!" Bea cried. She flung her arms out wide and beamed. "Come to Mama, Mr. Poppikins!"

A reddish-brown bear came hurtling toward her, its teeth bared and drool flopping from its jaws. I shrieked and took several steps backward. Fortunately, the bear ignored me completely and stopped right in front of Bea, giving her kneecaps a very vigorous bathing.

_This_ was Mr. Poppikins? Somehow I'd envisioned something very different. And much smaller.

"Come here, Katie, so he can properly see you. My poor Mr. Poppikins can't see very well, can you, sweetums?" she crooned, bending over so the dog could transfer his attentions from her knees to her nose. "He's been waiting all day to meet you."

Edging closer, I watched him warily. Now that he wasn't flinging himself in my direction I could tell that he was, in fact, a dog. A very large dog, but definitely not a bear. Although he might have had some sort of bear ancestor somewhere along the line . . .

Mr. Poppikins took one look at me, sniffed, and went back to his mistress. George coughed and took my car key from my hand. "He does that to me, too," he muttered as he opened the trunk and began to carry my belongings through the garage door. "Ignores me completely. It's like he knows I'd prefer a goldfish."

I snickered and followed him into the house, leaving Bea and her baby to their lovefest. "If you didn't want a dog, why did you get one?" I asked. The inside of the house was, blessedly, not yellow, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

George grunted. "He found us, unfortunately. We came home from yoga class and there he was, digging up the flower beds next to the mailbox. Bea fell in love with him before I could take him to the Humane Society, and now we have a dog. And for the record, he sees perfectly well. Just wait until he spots a squirrel." He opened a door and stood back to let me in. "I'm sorry the interior hasn't been redecorated yet," he went on apologetically, "but Mr. Poppikins ran off with every can of paint I bought and I gave up after a while. If they resurface while we're gone feel free to paint anything you want."

Maybe that dog-bear and I had more in common than I thought. "I'll see what I can do."

Bea bustled in, Mr. Poppikins nowhere in sight. "I see George has shown you your room," she noted, looking around. "There's another one down the hall that should suit Oliver, or there's one in the basement if he prefers."

We spent the rest of the afternoon going over the house, and I made long lists of notes that I knew I'd never look at again. How hard could it be to remember to dust, vacuum, and water the plants? And how would they know if all the figurines lining the mantel weren't hand polished every Tuesday?

Bea made dinner as I unpacked, and I started to feel a little excited again. Sure, the house was a little buttery, but that gave it charm, right? And the view from my window was quite lovely. If Mr. P was the only thing between me and domestic bliss, I was set.

George knocked on my door as I was closing the chest of drawers. "Dinner's ready," he said, looking around. "It's nice to have someone living here. I think part of the reason Bea is so attached to that dog is because we never had any children of our own."

"You have me, Oliver, and Josie," I protested.

He smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "I know we do, honey. But it's not quite the same." He paused, and then leaned closer to whisper in my ear, "Whatever Bea says, I do not approve of that dog eating at the table. He has a perfectly good dish hidden under the kitchen sink. You might want to get it out tomorrow. And keep it out." He winked at me solemnly, and we walked to the kitchen arm in arm.

Mr. P was already there when we poked our heads in the dining room. He was sitting on a chair like you see in commercials for fancy dog food, his paws crossed on the table. He appeared to be waiting for the Queen herself to sit across from him. I shot a glance at George, but he just looked at Mr. P with a long-suffering expression and murmured in my ear, "Under the sink. Don't forget."

Dinner conversation consisted of Bea giving me detailed instructions about Mr. P's care, which I promptly forgot once she handed over a huge three-ring binder containing all the information she'd just given me. What was the use of listening to her drone on if I could just look everything up once she was gone? I knew I was being juvenile; after all, caring for her dog was one of my primary responsibilities – but it had been a very long day, and my brain was starting to slowly subside into a chemistry-class fog.

Bea and George hugged me before I went to bed. "We're so glad you could come at the last minute," Bea said sincerely. "I'd be worried about things here at home if it were just Oliver. He's a dear boy, but I don't think men pay as much attention to details as women."

I tried to stifle a yawn. "I'm sure you're right."

She tutted at me and hugged me one last time. "We have to get an early start tomorrow, so we'll say our good-byes now. If you have any questions, the Fredericks down the street have left their number on the fridge."

"I've already met Officer Fredericks," I said without thinking.

Bea raised that eyebrow again. "Really? How did you run into him?"

I shrugged and tried to look casual. "I had a bit of a problem with George's map –" I shot him an apologetic look – "and ran into him downtown. He was very helpful."

"Well, call him or his wife if you need anything."

George pushed me gently toward the bedroom. "Let the poor girl go to bed, Bea," he said kindly. "She's almost asleep on her feet. We'll call in a few days." He hugged me before I stumbled down the hallway to my new bedroom. Ten minutes later I was watching the curtains flutter in the slight breeze that wafted through the open window. The last sound I heard before dozing off was Bea hurrying down the hall, Mr. Poppikins' feet clicking behind her on the wood floor.

***

The first thing I felt the next morning was something cold and wet lying on my cheek. I groaned and tried to push it away, but it was surprisingly strong. "Go away, Oliver," I mumbled. "It's too early for practical jokes."

The sound of a small freight train rumbled in my ear, and the next thing I knew I was staring into a pair of brown eyes that were disturbingly close to my own. I jerked back before I realized that it was just Mr. P.

"This had better not be the start of a pattern," I said feebly, falling back onto the pillows. "I don't care how early Bea feeds you; I'm on vacation. Go away."

At this Mr. P looked at me mournfully before trotting out of the room. Was that all it took? Go away? Man, this dog-sitting stuff was easier than I thought. I was almost asleep again when the sound of his paws moving purposefully down the hall made me cover my head with my pillow. It didn't work, though. A few seconds later Mr. P was back. He laid a book on top of the pillow and thrust his nose underneath it again, licking my ear.

Dogs were highly over-rated, I decided, and sat up to see what he was doing. The book he'd brought turned out to be the binder of dog-instructions Bea had given me at dinner the night before, and I flipped it open to the first section: _Breakfast of Champions!_ After it stated how much food to give him, it went on to say, _Mr. Poppikins always has breakfast in the sunroom, and he likes to watch the DVD that's in the video player while he eats. It gets him started off on the right foot._

I rolled my eyes. Was this a dog or a two-year-old? "Come on, Mr. P," I sighed as I stuck my feet into my slippers. "Breakfast of champions it is."

I sat next to him while he ate (out of the doggie dish I'd found under the sink, as George had told me, although I'd had to rinse the dust off it before it could be used) and watched his movie with him while I crunched my Cheerios. I snorted when Sylvester and Tweety flashed on the screen; it figured he'd like a cartoon where a canary always bests a cat. I glanced down at my slippers and made a mental note to get ones that had Garfield's head on them next time I needed a new pair.

After I got out of the shower I wandered through the house, trying to get a feel for my new home. George and Bea must have spent all their time outside, for while the interior was comfortable, the back yard was a masterpiece in outdoor living. Hot tub, fire pit, swing . . . the only thing missing was a swimming pool, although that could be a pain to look after. I sat on the swing and Mr. P sank to the ground at my feet, sighing happily. "You like it out here, don't you?" I asked, bending over and rubbing his ears.

I'd brought _Pride and Prejudice_ outside with me, but for some reason that morning my mind wouldn't focus on the words in front of me – not even when I turned to Darcy's first misguided proposal, which I had memorized. I leaned my head against the side of the swing, rested my feet on Mr. P's back, and let the slow swaying of the swing lull me into a sort of half doze.

The nap ended when something hit my lap with a thud. Mr. P watched me as I ran my fingers along the binder's edge, wondering how he'd gotten it out of the house without so much as a bite mark. It fell open to the section on dog-walking, and I looked at Mr. P suspiciously.

"How did you do that?" I asked. He just thumped his tail on the ground and watched a bee in the flowers lining the porch. "All right, let's go. It says you like to walk on the Monon Trail, and Bea's put a map in here. Let's just hope she's better at directions than her husband is."

Once I got Mr. P, his leash, and my book in the back of George's car we drove down the street and I looked at the houses lining it with interest. The last house on the left before I had to turn was a smaller white home, and a woman was outside watering the petunias with a look of supreme boredom. With her tiny shirt – too low on top and too high at the bottom to be honestly considered a blouse – she appeared to be exactly the sort of female that would make Oliver hyperventilate. He had a thing for brunettes, and this one kept flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced finesse that said she'd been taunting boys for years. I grinned. Oliver would have his work cut out for him when he started studying in earnest.

Bea's map was much better than George's, a fact I would have to point out to him when they called, and soon we were walking along the trail – an old rail line that had been converted into a walkway that ran right through the heart of Indianapolis and points northward. It was a beautiful day, and Mr. P and I quickly got into a rhythm. Well, he pulled as hard as he could on his leash and I tried not to trot behind him. Who was the human here? I guess it depended on which side of the leash you happened to walk.

We'd been trotting along for a mile or so when Mr. P saw something scamper across the trail ahead of us. I can only guess it was a squirrel. If I had thought Mr. P was pulling me forward before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. I hung on for dear life and started praying that he wouldn't try to climb a tree -- and that the squirrel met a very painful, drawn-out death.

Unfortunately, I didn't specify to whatever deity was listening to me that I wanted Mr. P to stop running altogether, because the squirrel darted across the path again from the opposite direction, and Mr. P went berserk. He barked wildly and ran after it, and in the split second it took me to make sure I still had my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ safely under my arm he'd run around me several times. I stood there for a second, completely flummoxed at how the leash _that I still held_ had become wrapped around my legs, midsection, and even around my arms before slowly teetering over and landing, breathless, on my rump. The book that I'd been so concerned about fell uselessly onto the asphalt several feet away, and since my arms were now pinned to my sides I decided not to worry about it. Mr. P stood there, panting, and finally giving up the fight he collapsed on the ground next to me, resting his head on my outstretched ankles and looking for all the world like he'd never seen a squirrel in his life – and didn't care if he ever did.

I wanted to kick him, I really did, but I just couldn't do it. For one thing, you're not supposed to kick animals (although I was beginning to think he wasn't really a canine at all but a demon in disguise and as such the rule didn't apply), and for another, my legs wouldn't move. How many times had he circled me, anyway?

We sat there for a minute, Mr. P and I, and after a second I bent over and leaned my head on his back. Hey, if he could use me as a pillow I could do the same to him.

I was beginning to think I might spend the rest of my days tied up on the Monon Trail when I looked up and saw a real, bona fide vision jogging toward me. Right in between Mr. P's reddish ears came a man I'd seen so many times in my dreams, most often after I'd watched any version of _Pride and Prejudice_ I could get my hands on, that I recognized him at once. He was taller even than Oliver and had curly brown hair, and his run had made his t-shirt stick to him in all the right places.

"Holy Mr. Darcy," I breathed.

I thought about swooning, like they used to do before people figured out that brassieres didn't have to squeeze the living daylights out of you, but since I was already on the ground it seemed kind of pointless – and anyway, the man was looking earnestly down at the iPod in his hands, as though he couldn't figure it out, instead of at me, which would have been much more useful. For me, at least.

He was so busy flipping through his playlists that he didn't see me until it was almost too late. When he finally registered that he was about to run over a body tied up on the ground he skidded to a halt and stared down at me. Then, very cautiously, he walked closer, keeping a wary eye on Mr. P, and whispered urgently, "Are you all right? Should I call 911?"

I was pretty sure Elizabeth Bennet would have said something witty and sparkling at this point, but I was feeling decidedly Lydia-like and could only stare at him, my mouth hanging open in what I'm sure was a fairly good impression of a goldfish. The man inched around so he was on the side closest to Mr. P and said, "The only weapon I have is my iPod. Don't move your head; I'll try to knock it out and then you can make a run for it."

At this I snapped out of my Darcy-induced trance and tried to sit up. "I couldn't run even if I wanted to," I pointed out, only succeeding in wriggling sideways so my head slid down onto Mr. P's back. "He's relatively harmless, anyway. We had an unfortunate meeting with a squirrel, and, well, you can see the results for yourself."

He stood there for a second, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about this information, and then threw his head back and laughed so hard he was clutching his sides. I must have looked rather affronted by this because he dried his eyes on his sleeve and squatted next to me.

"I'm assuming you're all right," he said conversationally. "You look too mad to be seriously hurt. I'm Sam, by the way."

"Katie." I said this as huffily as I could. Really, if he wasn't going to help me he should get out of the way so someone else could.

He stuck his iPod in his pocket and when he looked at me again his face was serious. "I would never laugh at a woman in distress," he said, sounding apologetic. "But I could imagine what happened, and I just couldn't help myself. I'm usually very gallant and charming." He paused for a second, then went on. "But I have to ask. Is your dog punishing you for misbehaving? Because if that's the case, you should probably find yourself a less demanding pet."

I shot a withering glare at Mr. P. "He's not actually my dog."

Sam lifted his eyebrows and got to his feet. He walked around me and Mr. P, trying to decide how best to get me loose. I hoped. "Then I have to assume you've kidnapped him and he's now holding you ransom in a strange sort of O. Henry parody."

I had to laugh. It _was_ kind of funny. That didn't make me feel any more charitable toward Mr. P, but at least the squirrel had got away. I took a rather perverse pleasure in that knowledge. "I'm actually dog-sitting him," I told him as he finally stopped his circling. "I'm beginning to think I should have stayed in Vincennes. It was much quieter there."

"Vincennes, eh? You came all the way to Indianapolis to take care of a dog that clearly could eat you for a midday snack? That must be some friend. I hope he appreciates you."

"Somehow I think if they could see me now they'd be coming home on the first plane they could catch." Had I remembered to shave that morning? From the way he was staring at my legs, I was sure I hadn't. I shifted uneasily. "I hate to sound rude, but I don't suppose you could help me up? It might be easier just to turn around a few times, but I don't think I can manage to stand on my own."

"Right. Sorry about that." He ran behind me, placed his hands around my waist, and lifted me easily to my feet. I stumbled a bit and he held me for a second longer until I got my footing.

"Mr. Poppikins." I now understood why Elizabeth had been so rude to Mr. Darcy at the Netherfield Ball – she hadn't known what to do with herself while they danced, and just said the first thing that came to her mind.

Sam looked justifiably confused. "Excuse me?"

I knew I'd sounded stupid but went on gamely, like blurting out randomly ridiculous names was really very clever. "That's the dog's name." Sam started turning me around by the shoulders. He may have been doing it to keep me from seeing his face, but I didn't care. "He watches Looney Tunes every morning while he eats breakfast. I think my Aunt Bea is crazy for letting a dog do that."

"So it's your aunt's dog, then."

"Well, hers and Uncle George's. Although I think George would prefer to have a hamster." I stopped spinning in time to see Sam smile slightly. Was I repeating myself? I _was_ feeling a little dizzy. Probably from all the turning around. "Why? Whose dog did you think he was?"

The smile got bigger. "I don't know," he said. "You didn't tell me. Are you going back to your car? I think I'd better walk you there if you are. For safety reasons, of course," he added when I looked at him questioningly.

He fell into step beside me, Mr. P's leash firmly in his hand. "So tell me, what are you doing with yourself besides dog sitting? Are you in Indy for a while, or are you going back home soon?"

"No, I'm here for a year or so. My parents' friends – that's George and Bea – left for Japan this morning, and Oliver and I are taking care of the house while they're gone. Oliver's my brother," I told him when his face lost some of the laugh lines around his eyes. "He's going to Butler in the fall, and I'll be looking for a job as soon as I get home and lock Mr. P in the basement for the next twelve months."

"What a coincidence." Sam turned his head to glance down at me. "My father owns a catering company downtown, and he might need someone. Do you think you'd be – "

All of a sudden I realized that my book, which had flown from my hands when Mr. P had performed his gymnastic exercises, was no longer within my sight. "Oh no," I cried, slightly panicked. "My book! Did you see it back there?"

I didn't wait for an answer and ran back, hoping it hadn't fallen into a puddle. I knew I could buy another copy, but I'd grown attached to this one and didn't want to lose it. It didn't take long before I was back to the scene of the crime, so to speak, and there was _Pride and Prejudice,_ lying face-down in the dirt next to the trail. I had just bent down to pick it up when Sam and Mr. P reached me.

"That must be some book," Sam commented, watching as I dusted off the cover. "You didn't really think you could read while you took Mr. Poppikins –" he paused to snort – "for a walk, did you?"

"No!" I paused. "Well, yes. This is my first time on the trail and I somehow thought Mr. P would be less attracted to the local wildlife. And I thought I could find a nice park bench somewhere."

Sam laughed and looped the leash more firmly around his wrist. "Well, Mr. P, I see you're as fascinated by the locals as I am." He gave me a sidelong glance. "So what's so important about this book that made you panic like that? It's just a book."

I tried to remember that not everyone had the same love for Jane Austen as I did, but it was hard when the person uttering such foolishness had looked so much like the hero of said novel only minutes before. "It's not just a book," I told him indignantly as I started walking again. "_Pride and Prejudice_ is one of the best-loved books in the English language. Jane Austen has had a huge impact on the way we write – and read – today. Just because there aren't any shootings or car chases in it doesn't mean it's boring. _Just a book_ indeed."

"Whoa, slow down there, Katie." Laughing, Sam held up his hands, making Mr. P's head jerk back a little. "I wasn't knocking your book. I didn't even know what it was."

I could feel the heat on my cheeks. "Sorry," I muttered, knowing I'd overreacted – again. "I didn't mean to go off like that."

Still laughing, Sam took the book from my hands and flipped through it. "I could tell I'd struck a nerve. So it's that good, huh? Maybe I'll have to read it."

I looked up at him in surprise. "You should. Not even my own brother has read it, and he's heard me extol its virtues on more than one occasion. Of course, that may be why he hasn't read it."

He gave it back to me and we walked for a while in companionable silence. When we'd stopped next to my car he handed me the leash and helped me stuff Mr. P in the backseat. "I'm parked just up the road," he said, gesturing vaguely up the street. "Are you really looking for a job?"

"Yes, I am."

He dug around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a card that had seen better days. "Like I said before, my father owns a catering company. If you think you'd be interested, stop by later in the week – say, Friday afternoon -- and I'll see if I can get you an interview. You may be just what he needs."

Peter's Perfect Catering. "Your dad's name is Peter?"

"Sure is. Peter Selman."

I put the card in my pocket and took the leash from Sam's hand. "Thanks for the help earlier," I told him. "I may have been there for hours if you hadn't stopped."

"Oh, someone else would have come along and untied you." He had a strange expression on his face. "It was a good excuse to meet you, though. I don't suppose you'd give me your phone number? You know, just in case Mr. P here decides to chase another squirrel."

Surely he wanted my number for reasons that didn't involve Mr. P. I opened the front door (it was a measure of his character that he didn't comment on the yellow interior) and grabbed a piece of paper Bea had left in the cup holder. I scribbled my information on it and gave it to him.

"You're not _the_ Katie Embury, are you? You're way too nice to be the senator's notorious daughter."

"Nope, I'm just Katie Embury, daughter of Ted and Sally. Are you disappointed?"

He looked at me strangely. "Not on your life. Thanks for the walk. Will I see you on the trail again tomorrow?"

Staring pointedly at Mr. P, I shrugged. "That depends on how well Mr. Poppikins behaves tonight. But I'll look for you if I do."

He smiled and closed my door for me. "Then I'll hope to see you tomorrow. Preferable standing, and without the dazed look on your face." Then he waved and jogged down the street.

I watched until he disappeared from view. I now had a job prospect and a handsome, charming acquaintance – who'd asked for my number. What more could a girl possibly want?

I glanced into the backseat only to see Mr. P slobbering all over my handbag. Well, maybe a little less love would be nice.

**Author's note**: I'm glad people are reading this; I was a little concerned that NA wasn't popular enough for anyone to pay attention to. So let me know what you think!

Many thanks again go to Linnea for her stupendous beta work, and to CJ, who's going to get tire of me calling him in the afternoon for yet another question. You guys are awesome, no question about it!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The next morning I woke up before Mr. P had a chance to come in and demand his breakfast, and it felt surprisingly good to stomp into the laundry room where he was sleeping and make loud noises, which he studiously ignored. I just laughed and stuffed my things in the washing machine. It was going to be a glorious day, I could just tell. After all, I had a date. Sort of.

But when I finally dragged Mr. P out the door and to the Monon Trail, there was no Sam Selman in sight. Plenty of other men were out jogging, but none that even remotely resembled Mr. Darcy. We loitered along the trail for an hour or so longer than we had the day before, but I finally admitted that he'd either already come and gone or he'd just not come at all. That night I told myself I wouldn't go back the next day. I mean, I'm not that pitiful, right?

Wednesday morning, however, found me once again at the same spot where Sam had rescued me. This time I brought along my book, and we found a shady tree to sit under while I pretended to read – all the while keeping a close eye on the people running before me. I almost called out to one guy, but as he drew nearer I could see that the color of his eyes wasn't quite right. When did I notice the color of Sam's eyes, anyway? It must have been while he was staring at my fuzzy legs – which I had taken great pains to shave every morning since.

By Thursday I'd decided to bag the trail and find somewhere else to walk. I didn't really relish the idea of meandering up and down the street several times while Mr. P decided he'd done enough sniffing and leg-raising, so we wandered down the street to Holliday Park.

Mr. P apparently knew we weren't heading to his favorite haunt, and by the time we reached the park he was in a decidedly grumpy mood. He walked ahead of me as far as he could without choking, his head held high in protest. It was almost like he was headed for the guillotine and couldn't be bothered to be upset about the prospect of losing his head.

"Come on, Mr. P," I told him in a soothing voice. "I'm not going to go back to that trail and make a fool of myself for the third day straight. I think some of those people are starting to recognize us."

He just snorted and kept walking. Now his tail was held high, too.

I just rolled my eyes and followed his lead. He must have come here before, because he set off down the trail next to the play equipment and slowed down when we reached the swings. I looked over and watched as a young mother pushed her little boy higher and higher, encouraged by his squeals of delight. I knew why I found this little scene so entrancing, but why in the world would Mr. P care enough to stop and stare?

It took me a minute before I realized that, most likely, his partner in these Holliday Park walks had been Bea. I could just picture Bea walking down the trail, slowing down until she was standing still next to the swings, and watching what she would never have. It made me pause to think about the woman (and, by extension, her husband) and what they had missed out on. Maybe George was right and Mr. Poppikins really did fill a void in Bea's heart. I would never ask, but it made me understand her devotion to the dog in front of me a little better. It didn't mean I had to emulate it, but I did understand.

We'd been standing there for a few minutes (it took a while for this revelation to sink in properly) when a young woman pushing a pink stroller stopped on the path next to us. "Hello, Mr. Poppikins," she said pleasantly. "It's nice to see you out today."

I wasn't sure what to do. Did she expect Mr. P to respond? He may have been a smart dog, but I had yet to hear him utter any actual words. She laughed when she saw my expression.

"You must be Katie," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Junie Fredericks. I understand that you met my husband downtown a few days ago."

Crap. I hadn't ever gotten around to making those cookies. "Katie Embury," I replied, shaking her hand. "I was really glad I ran into your husband. I didn't have any idea where I was."

The baby hidden inside the stroller began to whimper, and Junie pushed it back and forth absently. "He was glad to help. He's been trying to impress his boss," she confided, "so he tries to be very attentive. He really wants to be a detective, but no one seems to think he has enough experience."

Officer Fredericks _had_ looked pretty young. "Really? How long has he been a police officer?"

"Just a year." And he thought he could be a detective? Was he hoping to become a police prodigy? When the baby's cries got more insistent Junie stopped the stroller's movements and opened the visor, letting the warm sunshine stream inside. "She hates to be stuck in here where she can't see what's going on," Junie went on, leaning over the stroller. "This is Addy, by the way."

I peered over Junie's shoulder. All I could see was a pink hair ribbon glued to the side of a very bald head. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Fredericks," I said solemnly. The baby stopped mid-cry and turned her head enough so I could see one huge blue eye staring up at me. "Nice baby," I commented.

A few seconds later Junie stopped fussing inside the stroller and stood up. "Do you mind if we keep moving?" she asked apologetically. "Addy seems to be fine if she thinks we're actually going somewhere."

I couldn't say that I blamed her. It must be very boring to be strapped inside a car seat and made to go where someone else wants all the time, and then being forced to sit around and wait when you clearly have more important plans. "Fine by me," I said. "Come on, Mr. P."

"I'm so glad Bea found someone to watch things while she and George are gone," Junie told me after we started down the path again. "She was really worried there for a little bit. Fred and I offered to help, but they wanted someone to live in the house."

"Fred?" Surely she didn't call her husband by an abbreviated form of his last name.

A look somewhere between amusement and long-suffering crossed Junie's face. "Yeah, my husband's name is Fred Fredericks. His parents didn't have much of an imagination."

I focused on Mr. P's ears ahead of me, trying not to snort with laughter. "Well, I'm glad he wasn't a girl."

Junie laughed outright at this. "He actually thought it would be a good idea to name the baby Fredericka. It took me four months to convince him otherwise, and then only because I told him in the delivery room that if he tried to name the baby after I went through all the trouble of having her he'd never have any more kids. He gave in then."

I grinned at her. "Well, I'm glad you won. And when little Addy's a teenager, I'm sure she'll thank you, too."

We were quiet for a few minutes before Junie spoke again. "What are you going to do while you're here? I understand the Butterworths will be gone for a year. Are you going to look for a job?"

Talking about jobs made me think of Sam, and my answer was a little more melancholy than I would have liked. "That's the plan. I met someone on the Monon Trail the other day who gave me a lead, so with any luck I won't be looking for long."

"How did you ever manage to get a job prospect while taking Mr. Poppikins for a walk?"

It did sound kind of strange if you didn't know about Mr. P's love for squirrels. "I was having a bit of trouble with Mr. P here, and this guy helped me out. It turns out that his dad owns a catering company, and Sam told me to come in tomorrow afternoon to apply."

Addy started making impatient noises again, and we stopped in front of a park bench. "Would it be okay if we park here for a little while?" Junie asked, looking at me anxiously. "I'm sorry; I'm sure you have someplace more important to be, but it's been so long since I had any normal conversation with anyone except Fred that – "

After three days of talking to no one but a big reddish dog, I understood exactly how she felt. "Don't worry," I told her easily. "Technically I don't have to be anywhere until tomorrow." I sighed and sank onto the bench next to her.

Junie unbuckled Addy from her seat and hoisted the baby onto her shoulder. Addy raised her little head, looked around curiously, and spat up all over her mother's shirt.

"I'm afraid Addy's left you a little present," I said as delicately as I could, scooting a few inches away. How could such a little person produce such foul-smelling stuff?

Junie just plopped what looked like a cloth diaper over the mess and went on like nothing untoward had happened. "I'm sure it will all work out," she said, patting Addy on the back absently. "If not there, then somewhere else. Or were you hoping to work with this trail man?"

The image of Sam coming around the bend to save me from the evil Mr. P floated into my head. "I wouldn't mind," I said a little dreamily. "He was very nice."

Junie laughed and put Addy back in the stroller. "I'm so glad I don't have to play the dating game anymore," she told me. "Taking care of a baby is no piece of cake, but there's never any wondering if the person you're currently pursuing will call you or not – and if he calls you, what he'll say."

I looked at the stain covering Junie's shoulder and shuddered. "If you say so. I think I'll take my chances with Sam – if I ever see him again."

***

After agreeing to dinner at the Fredericks' house on Saturday night I walked home and wondered what I could do for the rest of the afternoon. The light was flashing on the answering machine when I took Mr. P in the kitchen for a drink, and I listened to it while waiting for him to finish dripping water all over Bea's hardwood floor.

_"Katie, it's Oliver. I'll be at the house tomorrow evening. Leave me a key in the mailbox if you won't be home." _He snickered._ "Like you ever have hot plans. I'm sure I'll see you when I get there."_

Stupid brother, I thought as I wiped up Mr. P's puddle. Maybe I'd go out just to spite him. For all he knew, I was heavily in demand. I wasn't, but he didn't need to know that.

Fortunately my overloaded schedule allowed me hours of free time, so that afternoon I decided to humor Bea and clean to her specifications. Now, I'm no slob, but dust bunnies and I have a very healthy relationship – they leave me alone, and I return the favor. However, I'd promised to treat her home as she would, and I felt obligated to dust all those silly figurines. Maybe just once.

Mr. P stared at me dolefully when I dropped the last one on the hearth before he disappeared down the hall to the sun room. "It's only chipped!" I called after him, considering myself lucky that the thing hadn't lost its head. If I turned it slightly, no one would ever notice. At least, I hoped not.

Once the housework was done the only thing left to do was water the flowers. That didn't sound too hard until I realized the number of them there were. How many yellow creations can one couple plant in a mere six months? I was glad it would be fall soon; then my watering career would come to a screeching – and blessed – halt.

The hose only reached so far, though, and I had to resort to filling the watering can at the faucet and lugging it to the end of the driveway. I was on my third trip when Mr. P, who had evidently forgiven me for breaking his mistress' statue, came ambling around the corner. He spied me and, with the speed of an Indy car headed down the straightaway, careened straight toward me.

The next thing I knew I was lying flat on my back, Mr. P sitting proudly on my stomach. "Get off," I gasped. "I can't breathe!"

I shoved at his chest as hard as I could, and after a few seconds Mr. P yawned, licked my face, and sauntered away. It took me a second to fill my lungs with air again, and I closed my eyes, cursing dogs in general and Mr. P in particular.

"Excuse me, but did you know that you're lyin' in your flowerbed?"

I thought about ignoring the woman speaking to me in what sounded like a very fake southern accent. I'd have to be dead not to know I was killing Bea's flowers since I was the one squashing them.

When she spoke again, her voice was closer to my ear. "You'll ruin your hair if you don't move."

I gave in and opened my eyes. Not twelve inches from me knelt the woman I'd seen at the end of the street the day of my first foray onto the Monon Trail. This time, much to my dismay, she was wearing even less clothing than she had before. I turned my head to avoid staring at something no decent person would even think of looking at, and felt the mud squelch under my hair. Perfect.

"Now you've done it," she said with some satisfaction. "Pity, too. You have decent hair for a blonde."

Rolling away, I vowed to lose Mr. P as soon as I could and not be arrested for animal cruelty. It seemed strangely coincidental that every time he got excited I found myself lying on the ground. "Thanks for the advice," I said drily. "I'm sure my hair will recover. After all, I hear all the celebrities are doing mud rinses these days."

"Really? Maybe I should try it." The woman got to her feet and placed her skinny arms on her equally bony hips. "I'm Jessica Haskins, by the way," she went on, looking around her curiously. Her southern accent had all but disappeared. "I live down the street."

I was glad she hadn't offered to shake my hand, since both of mine were now covered in mud. "Katie Embury. Would you mind if I went inside and got cleaned up? You're welcome to come, if you'd like." I was half hoping she'd decline, but the Indiana hospitality that had been instilled in me refused to let me just leave – even after she'd been so helpful.

"Don't mind if I do." She smiled sweetly and followed me into the house, leaving the empty watering can behind.

I took the world's fastest shower and emerged, slightly damp, ten minutes later. Jessica had made herself right at home – I found her watching television in the sunroom, eating a bowl of ice cream.

"This is a nice set-up you have here," she commented, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. "Having a dog must be a nuisance, though. All those dog hairs. And I can't imagine that yours, in particular, would attract very many men."

I stood there in the doorway and blinked at her. Was she for real? "What happened to the southern thing?" I asked.

"Oh, that. I was practicing on you. I have this theory that girls with accents get hotter guys. How was I doing?"

Maybe I'd hit my head harder than I thought, because I was having a difficult time keeping up with her. "With the guys or the drawl?"

Jessica finally turned the television off and transferred her attention to me. "Why, the accent, of course. I've been working on it all week. I think it's about ready to test on a live male. What do you think?"

I paused for a moment. "I'd say it needed more work."

She frowned for a second before getting to her feet and twirling around. I couldn't understand how she was managing to stay inside her top. It looked like she'd burst out of it every time she took a breath. Or moved. "It doesn't really matter, honey," she said, peering at her reflection in the darkened television screen. "As long as you dress appropriately no one really cares what you sound like. I'm trying out the accent for men who hear me before they see me."

"Oh." There really wasn't a good response to this.

Jessica stopped her pirouetting and walked past me into the living room. "Hey, I know this guy," she said, pointing to a picture of Oliver hanging on the wall. "He went to school with my brother. Do you know him?"

I snorted. "Just a little." Deciding that was unfair, I went on. "He's my older brother."

"No way." Jessica looked at me shrewdly. "That's amazing. Ollie and Josh were such pals in college. Didn't your brother ever mention mine? He spent spring break at our house his junior year, before we moved here."

I vaguely remembered Oliver going somewhere a few years back, and I shrugged. "Not that I can remember, but that was quite a while ago."

Jessica took the picture off the wall and sank into the armchair facing the front window, her feet propped up on the coffee table. "Ollie's always been a very attractive man," she said, half to herself. "What's he been up to recently? I'm afraid Josh lost track of him."

"He worked for a few years after college as a hotel manager, but he quit last week after he decided to get his MBA," I told her. Mr. P chose that moment to wander in, and he ambled slowly over to where Jessica was sitting. I watched, fascinated, as he wedged himself under her knees and squirmed his way around the coffee table. Jessica slipped down her chair so slowly that she didn't react until her rear end was at the very edge of her seat. Mr. P looked over his shoulder, snuffled, and bolted toward me. The result was immediate. Jessica's rear fell toward the ground, but because her legs were still somewhat on the table her bottom became wedged between the two pieces of furniture, her feet sticking straight up.

She squawked and flailed her arms around, and I patted Mr. P on the head before I went to help her to her feet. "Mr. Poppikins is very protective of Bea's furniture," I said calmly while I helped her up. "You might want to remember that."

She glared at Mr. P and picked up Oliver's picture, which had fallen to the floor. "He's smart, isn't he?"

Not sure whether she was referring to Mr. P or Oliver, I nodded. It was true of both of them, I supposed. "He got accepted to Butler," I informed her, placing the picture back on the wall.

Jessica's eyes got a calculating look that I wasn't sure I liked. "That's very interesting news." The southern accent was back in full-force. I thought about telling her that Oliver would be living with me but decided he could tell her himself if he wanted to. Apart from the Oliver-obsession (and the lack of proper clothing) she was kind of funny – in a strange sort of way.

"Well," Jessica said, sitting back down again after making sure Mr. P was safely on the other side of the room, "I'm very glad you moved in. I've wanted a girlfriend for simply ages." She beamed at me. "We should go out to dinner tomorrow night. You know, to celebrate your arrival."

I was about to refuse when I remembered Oliver's message from that afternoon. _"Like you ever have hot plans._" Well, just because I didn't think Jessica qualified as 'hot plans' didn't mean he wouldn't. "Sounds good," I said, smiling back at her. "But I'm hoping to have a job interview tomorrow afternoon. Can I meet you somewhere?"

"A job? Whyever would you want a job?"

My smile dimmed a little. "I thought it would be a good idea," I said cautiously. "You know, to earn some money so that when George and Bea get back I can afford a place of my own. Don't you have some . . . I don't know, source of income?"

Jessica reached out to pat my knee in a very patronizing way. "Sure I do, honey," she said. "My great-aunt left me enough to buy the house and live pretty decently for a few years. Once the money's gone I intend to be married to a nice rich man. I have it all figured out."

Well, that effectively eliminated Oliver from her scheme, as he was planning on running a non-profit after he'd paid off his student loans. "That's not something you hear every day." I studied her for a long minute. She was one of the most unusual people I'd ever met before, and I wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't know anyone like her that made me curious – and willing to continue our new friendship, if that's what it could be called. "I hope it works the way you want," I told her rather dubiously. "Are there any prospects?"

Not looking at all bothered, she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. I noticed that she didn't place her feet back on the coffee table, though. "Not right now," she admitted, "but I have a feeling that that's going to change very soon. How about you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

I thought about Sam fleetingly. "Aha!" she cried, pointing a finger with bright red nails at me. "I thought there was."

Not sure how she could have come up with that idea, I shook my head. "I met a guy named Sam on Monday, but I haven't heard from him since. He's the one that gave me the info on the job." I shrugged, wondering why I couldn't get him out of my head. It wasn't like we were Elizabeth and Darcy, being thrown together at every turn. That was one thing about Jane Austen that I never really got. Everything was just so conveniently coincidental.

"I assume he has your number."

When I nodded she looked at me approvingly. "Good girl. Maybe you'll see him sometime. But until then, we can go out tomorrow and scope out the local talent. It'll be great fun."

It was better than sitting around with a big dog, waiting for my brother to show up. "You're on," I said, suddenly glad I'd found someone to help pass the time. "Tell me where to meet you, and I'll be there."

It took me a while to fall asleep that night. I kept thinking that Sam and Peter's Perfect Catering were all figments of my overactive imagination, and that I'd just make a fool of myself the next day when I tried to find a company that didn't exist. Wanting to prove to myself that I hadn't been hallucinating that day on the trail, I pulled the business card Sam had given to me out of my wallet and read and re-read the address. It had to be real. I couldn't just conjure up such a good Mr. Darcy without even a smidgeon of truth, could I?

The trouble was, I thought I could.

**Author's Note**: I may have tweaked the original Isabella Thorpe just a little. Hope no one minds! Thanks go once again to Linnea for her beta-work (while finishing up a story of her own; it takes dedication to do that!) and to C.J., who still hasn't complained about my calls.

Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I spent the next morning and even part of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear to an interview where I didn't know what position I was trying to land. What did people _do_ at a catering company? I tried to remember the receptions I'd attended for my high school friends who'd gotten married several years back. There had been servers and, I was assuming, cooks (which I couldn't possibly convince anyone with taste buds that I could do, no matter how persuasively Sam spoke), and people running around doing all sorts of things. What does a person wear to a company like this?

In the end it was easy to choose, thanks to Mr. P. He came in after lunch, looking bored and in need of someone to bother. He rested his head on the bed where I had laid out my clothes and stared at me dolefully. "I'm not taking you for a walk this afternoon," I said sternly, trying to push his head off a skirt. "I have a job interview. So go away and let me get dressed in peace."

Mr. P ignored me (again) and started slobbering on said skirt. I yelped and pulled it from under his mouth, but he just wiggled his head over to start slobbering on a pair of slacks insead. "Mr. P, you're going to ruin everything!" I cried, starting to fling clothes out of his range of fire. He eyed the pile of clothes I created, turned around several times and flopped down, his head nestled on a sweater.

The only thing left that wasn't underneath him (or drenched in doggie saliva) was the dress Mom had bought for me the year before. I hadn't had much use for it at the time; it was black and white, and its straight skirt fell just above my knees. I felt like I could pass as a checkered flag at a race. Still, thanks to the mad dog (who by now was fast asleep on my floor) it was the only thing I had left that wasn't blue jeans or shorts, so it would have to do.

As I pulled out of the driveway I noticed with dismay that the flowers I'd collapsed on the day before had not revived themselves as I'd hoped, and I promised myself that I would visit the nursery the next day. I hoped Bea had kept a description (and name) of all the flowers in the front yard. If it had anything to do with Mr. Poppikins, I'd be in luck.

This time I navigated Monument Circle successfully and was in the parking lot by three thirty. I turned off the ignition and sat in George's car for a minute, wondering what to do next. I rubbed my forehead and forced myself out of the car before I could change my mind and drive back home.

It was cool inside the building and I looked around, trying to decide what kind of person Mr. Selman was. The lobby was all dark wood paneling and thick carpets, and there was a large desk in the middle of the room. The woman sitting behind the computer didn't look up when the door closed behind me.

I waited there for a second, wondering if I was supposed to sign in or wait until someone noticed that I was there. Elizabeth wouldn't have stood here like an idiot, I reminded myself. Come on, you're a twenty-first century woman, not a spineless jellyfish. Elizabeth yourself and rise to the occasion!

I cleared my throat and walked to the computer woman like I was supposed to be there. Her gaze remained on the screen in front of her, so I fake-coughed. "Excuse me," I said in my best you'd-better-pay-attention-to-me-because-I-know-people-in-high-places voice. "Mr. Selman asked me to meet him here this afternoon."

The woman carefully lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. "And just which Mr. Selman would that be?"

I opened my mouth to reply that it was Sam, of course, but then realized that I knew very little about his family other than that his father owned a catering business. Did Sam even work here? Had he said? What if this was all some horrid set-up? "Look," I said a little desperately, knowing that any resemblance between me and Elizabeth Bennet had just disappeared, "I met Sam on the trail Monday and he told me to come in and he'd help me get an interview. I don't know if he told anyone else that I'd be here but my name's Katie Embury and please, let me in."

The woman stared at me for a long moment, apparently discomfited by my rather incomprehensible speech. She'd just moved to push her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose when a deep male voice came from the shadows behind her.

"Let her in, Agnes."

I looked around in confusion. Was someone sitting in a corner somewhere? I couldn't even see any speakers. Agnes just looked heavenward and pressed a button on her desk. A panel slid silently open on one side, and I walked, with some trepidation, through before it closed silently behind me. What was this place, some sort of wood-paneled Star Trek convention?

A harassed-looking woman was waiting for me on the other side, and she smiled at me distractedly. "So you're the famous Katie," she said, glancing at my dress. The smile grew more genuine. "I must say I was expecting something a little different."

Not this again. "I'm not the person you think I am," I told her somewhat stiffly. "I'm from Vincennes. My dad's a high school chemistry teacher."

Her right eyebrow rose, and I groaned internally. Was I to be forever cursed to be surrounded by people with enhanced eyebrows? It simply wasn't fair. "No way," she said, starting to laugh. "I was sure Sam was kidding when he said he'd met Katie Embury on the Monon Trail, and he was. He just didn't tell me the entire story." She paused to look at her watch, then strode off down the hall, leaving me to trail along in her wake. "I'm Hannah, by the way. Sam's my brother."

How many Selman siblings were there? Was everyone in this company related somehow? "Pleased to meet you. Sam was very nice to me the other day."

Hannah slowed down and came to a halt in front of a desk that was empty save for a computer and a very complicated-looking printer. "This is your stop," she told me, looking at her watch again. "You'd better get in there or you'll be late." She turned the doorknob for me and pushed me in. "Good luck!" she whispered before pulling the door closed.

I was trying to figure out how I could be late when I hadn't even had an interview scheduled when I stepped into the room. It appeared empty, so I looked around curiously. An entertainment news show was playing quietly on a television mounted on the wall over the door, and for a second I was distracted when a baseball score scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The Yankees had lost. Again. All was right with the world.

The sound of water running jarred me back to reality, and I straightened my skirt nervously just as a man entered from a door hidden among another wood-covered wall. He sat at the desk and leaned back, looking at me without saying a word. I decided two could play at that game and stared back, figuring that this must be the mysterious Mr. Selman.

I could see where Sam got his Darcy-ish appearance, and I sighed inwardly, wondering where Sam was. Somehow, on the Selman male currently in front of me, the good looks and curly hair looked shrewd instead of earnest.

Evidently finished with his inspection Mr. Selman got slowly to his feet and addressed me over the top of his computer screen. "So you're Katie Embury," he mused, crossing his arms. "Sam told me quite a bit about you. He made me promise to see you if you came here today."

"He did?" I flushed when I heard my voice squeak.

"Sam says a lot of things that I usually tune out, but there was something about your name that piqued my interest. I just can't think what it is." He frowned before walking toward me. "I assume you have a resume prepared?"

I'd been clutching it since I first walked in the building, and I gave it to him, wishing it weren't quite so wrinkled and sweaty. He glanced at it briefly before tossing it on the desk. "Have you ever been a personal assistant before?"

His question took me by surprise. "No," I admitted, "but I thought – "

"That's in your favor. Can you type?"

I thought of all those essays I'd had to compose in college and all the letters I'd dictated for Uncle Bob and grinned. "I don't know how many words a minute, but I'm better than some."

He jerked his head in what I guessed was a nod, and continued to look me over. It was a very uncomfortable thing to have a man who could presumably be my grandfather (I'd have to google him when I got back home and see how old he'd been when he had Sam and Hannah) stare at me like I was some sort of prize-winning sheep. I wondered idly if I should show him my teeth. Thank goodness I'd suffered through all those years of braces.

Mr. Selman's eyes flitted up to the screen above my head and I could have sworn I saw his eyes widen. What was going on up there?

When he looked back down at me again his expression was calculating. "When could you start, Miss Embury?" he asked in a very self-satisfied voice.

Well, Monday was Labor Day, so, "Tuesday?"

"Tuesday it is. I'll expect you by nine. Hannah will show you around while I prepare the terms of your offer." And with that he turned back toward his desk.

I wasn't sure how I made it out of the room, but there I was, standing in front of Hannah with what I'm sure was a glazed look on my face. "How did it go?" she asked.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times before any sound came out. "I got the job," I managed finally. "I just don't know what job that is."

She grinned at me and led me, much slower this time, back down the hall. "I believe you're going to be my father's personal assistant," she informed me. "It doesn't take a whole lot of brains, but he can be a little demanding at times."

"Demanding? Should I be worried?"

She made a face. "Well, he's been through four personal assistants this year so far. But I'm sure you'll love it," she added hastily. "So, where shall we start the tour? I know you want to see where Sam's working at the moment, so maybe we should begin there."

I didn't really pay attention to where we were going. "That was the strangest job interview I've ever gone on," I muttered as we walked down the hall. Maybe Sam had done more than just put in a good word for me. He must have said some awfully nice things. Either that or Mr. Selman thought I was someone I wasn't. But why would he think the other Katie Embury wanted a job? I tried not to follow her actions too closely – it felt too weird – but from the little I'd seen she didn't look at all like the type that would be interested in full-time employment. Come to think of it she seemed instead like the kind of person that could hang out happily for hours with Jessica.

I almost ran into Hannah when she stopped in front of a non-descript door. "This is where you'll find Sam," she said, throwing it open. For one wild second I was sure he was in there, and I held my breath. It was, sadly, dark and empty. And very small. "What does he do for your dad, anyway?" I asked, peering into the dimly lit space. It seemed more like the inside of a refrigerator than actual working space. It needed a good airing – which it wasn't going to get since there weren't any windows.

Hannah laughed at my expression. "Unlike David, Sam decided to learn the business from the bottom up," she explained. "He didn't want to get a management position without knowing what went on behind the scenes first. He tried to refuse an office altogether but Father thought it would look strange for the owner's son to be – how did he put it again? – wandering around the office like a homeless waif. Or something like that."

I was impressed. Not with Mr. Selman's simile, but with Sam's intent. "I take it Sam lost the battle."

She shot me an amused look. "In a way. Father wanted him to have something fancy, and I believe this used to be a broom closet. Literally. But at least, for Father's sake, he has David."

"Who's David?"

That earned me a strange look. "He's our oldest brother," she said. "Exactly how long have you known Sam, anyway?"

That was a hard question to answer. "Technically, I've known him since Monday," I replied slowly. "But I've only spoken to him that once, on the trail."

Her eyebrow shot as high as it could go without merging into her hairline. "Really? The way he was talking it sounded like you'd known each other for a lot longer than that. Well, he swore he'd be back by Tuesday, so I guess you can see him then." She shut the door to the closet-turned-executive-office and we headed toward the kitchens.

An hour later my brain was numb. I can only process so much information at one time, and I met that limit five minutes into our tour. I wished I'd had the foresight to bring along a notebook so I could copy down what she said and memorize things over the weekend.

Hannah smiled at me sympathetically when we headed back toward Mr. Selman's office. "I keep forgetting that not everyone grew up with a catering company for a family," she said ruefully. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of things pretty quickly. And it's okay if you don't; most of your time will be spent catering to my father's personal business." I tried to smile at her choice of words, but it must not have been very convincing. "It'll be okay, Katie," Hannah went on encouragingly. "I'll give you my cell number, and you can call me if you have any questions."

By this time we'd reached my future desk and she pulled a card from one of the drawers and wrote her information on the back. What was up with these people and business cards? They seemed to pop out of nowhere anytime someone needed one. Would that happen to me, too, once I started working here?

"Give me your cell phone number. I'm sure Sam already has it, but I might need it later."

I stared at her blankly. "I don't have a cell phone."

The door to Mr. Selman's office flew open and he stood in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. "You don't have a cell phone? How does anyone contact you?"

I shrugged and placed Hannah's card in my purse. "They leave me a message at home, and I get back with them when I can. If it's an emergency the people who know me know where to find me." It occurred to me that he hadn't been without a cell phone since they'd been invented, and I couldn't help but grin at the idea of Mr. Selman with a phone the size of Kentucky tucked under his chin.

"Well, young lady, I'm afraid that won't do at all. I expect to be able to reach you when I want, and I'm not very good at waiting around. Hannah, see that she gets a phone as soon as she's done here." Hannah nodded mutely as Mr. Selman handed me several pieces of paper. He seemed more jovial than he had during our interview – if that's what it could be called – and I couldn't help wondering what had put him in such a good mood. "Here are the details of your employment with Peter's Perfect Catering." He finished his speech with a great deal of pride, and I stifled a smirk. I could just see how Josie would react if I named a company after myself.

I glanced down at the papers he'd given me and my jaw dropped. "You can't seriously mean to offer me this kind of money," I said faintly.

"It's not enough?" Mr. Selman frowned. "I suppose I could see to a little extra. I know you have an image to maintain."

I was so shocked that I didn't take in much of what he was saying. "No, that's not what I meant. The amount of money you're offering me is enough to feed a small third-world country."

Mr. Selman relaxed and patted my shoulder indulgently. "Now, now, Miss Embury. If you don't have any other objections, please sign the offer and I'll see you on Monday. Hannah, don't forget to take Miss Embury to purchase that cell phone as soon as you're done here."

I signed the offer with shaking fingers and he disappeared back into his office, leaving me and Hannah to stare at each other.

"Well, I'm glad that went well." Hannah shook her head slightly and directed me through the lobby. I could feel Agnes' eyes on me as we walked past her desk, and I smiled nervously at the receptionist. She didn't seem too happy to see me with Hannah. "See you Tuesday!" I mumbled over my shoulder. She just stared at me, her glasses frozen halfway to her face.

An hour later I was the proud owner of a new cell phone that I had no idea how to use. "I still don't see why I need one of these things," I said dubiously, turning the phone over in my hands. "I never had any use for one before, and your dad is paying me too much money as it is. He doesn't need to buy this, too, especially when I don't think anyone will ever call me."

Hannah laughed at this and turned her car into the catering company's parking lot. "You'll be surprised to see how useful they can be. And how irritating." She sighed and pulled into a parking space. "I won't give Dad your number until you come in on Tuesday, so enjoy the last few days of peace and quiet you'll get for a while."

I stared at her and hoped she didn't mean that Mr. Selman would call me in the middle of the night to discuss work things. Or that he'd want to discuss anything else while the rest of the world was supposed to be asleep, for that matter. "It'll be all right," she said with a brisk tone. "I think you'll do very well with us. It's been a long time since I've liked any of Dad's personal assistants, and I like you very much indeed." She glanced at her watch and groaned. "I've got to get back," she told me apologetically. "Call me if you have any questions over the weekend. I'm glad you're on board!" She grinned at me one last time before dashing out of the car and into the building, leaving me to stare at the gadget in my hand. I was amazed at how my life had changed so drastically in a matter of three hours.

***

I had an hour to kill before meeting Jessica for dinner so I left George's car at the catering company and ambled toward Monument Circle, flipping idly through the owner's manual as I went. Hannah had gone all out and purchased me a phone that had gadgets and gizmos that I'd never heard of before. It was unreal what a cell phone could do these days. I really hoped Mr. Selman didn't expect me to use everything.

By the time I reached the roundabout downtown I still had no clue how to send a text message and was starting to think I should take it back and insist on something a little less high-tech when someone called my name. I raised my head and saw Officer Fredericks across the street waving frantically, so I jogged over to talk to him.

He grinned when I reached his side. "I understand you met my wife and daughter yesterday," he told me, pride evident in his voice. "Junie was so excited. It's been a while since someone our age moved in."

"What about Jessica?"

He looked at me blankly. "Jessica who?"

No wonder he wasn't a detective yet. The man didn't even know who lived on his own block. "The girl in the house at the other end of the street, closest to the park."

Officer Fredericks thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I haven't met her. Junie tells me you've been looking for a job. Any luck so far?"

I grinned at him and nodded. "You're looking at the newest employee of Peter's Perfect Catering," I said with a curtsey, and laughed. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time." Either that or I owe Sam a huge favor.

He frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Peter Selman owns that, right?" When I nodded he glanced down the street in the direction I'd come. "Peter Selman's been wanting to be the sole caterer for the Indy 500 for a long time now," he said slowly. "Did he say anything about it to you?"

"I was just hired today. He hardly had any time to tell me much of anything."

His frown deepened. "Well, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He seems very shrewd." Then, noticing the phone still clutched in my hand, he asked, "I'm not stopping you from making a call, am I?"

Wrinkling my nose at the thing, I flipped it open. "I just got this and can't figure it out. Maybe I should just take it back."

He took it from me and pressed a few buttons. "What did you want to do?"

"I was thinking I'd send my friend a text to tell her I was ready for dinner early."

He pushed a few more buttons and held it out to me. "Here you go. You just need her cell number and you're set."

I stared at him in some awe. "Are all police officers trained on cell phone use, or are you just really technologically advanced?"

He laughed and placed the thing in my hands. "Now you sound like Junie. Come on, I'll walk you through it."

A few minutes later I sauntered away, cell phone in hand and a new spring in my step. If I could conquer the evil cell phone I could certainly handle Mr. Selman.

I just hoped I didn't need a police officer by my side to do it.

**Author's Note**: When I started writing this I made a goal to keep the chapters shorter (I never knew I could be so verbose!) and I'm afraid that, out of ten written so far, this is the shortest. So much for goal-setting!

Thanks go to Linnea, as usual, for her insights and corrections, and also to C.J, who tried very, very hard to explain the inner workings of a catering company to me. If nothing at all makes sense, it's all my fault.

As always, I love to hear what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Either my texting hadn't worked or I had the wrong number because I sat outside the restaurant for a long time with no word from my new best friend. I'd just pulled the phone from my purse to call her and leave an actual verbal message when it rang. I could hear Jessica's voice two feet from my ear.

"Katie, sweetie, are you there?"

"Yes," I said, a little put out that she wasn't. "Where are you? I thought we were supposed to meet an hour ago."

"I'm on my way," she chirped, conveniently ignoring the last part of my statement. "Why don't you go in and snag us a table? See if you can land one outside. It'll be easier to keep an eye on the scenery that way."

I looked around. Downtown Indianapolis was a hopping place this time of night, but there wasn't a whole lot of 'scenery' to make out, especially in the dark. "I'll see what I can do," I told her uncertainly.

"Great! I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye!"

Jessica must have been born under a lucky star, because I managed to get the last outdoor table. And just like I'd thought, there wasn't much to see – a lot of people milling around, but nothing worth writing home about. Maybe Jessica just needed a ride in the country to know what scenery really was. She'd obviously lived a very sheltered life.

After waiting for twenty minutes, which was only polite, I ordered my dinner. It had been a long time since lunch and I figured that I'd already waited long enough for Jessica. Maybe I'd have to find a more punctual friend. Of course, at this point I'd have to start from scratch since Jessica was the only one I had.

As I chewed my food I thought about Jessica and her tardy nature. What was I doing here, anyway? It was one thing to prove a point by not being home when Oliver arrived – just to show him that I wasn't the loser he said. It was another thing to sit around and wait for an hour just to do that. Perhaps, though, my first impressions weren't always as good as I thought. After all, Elizabeth got Darcy completely wrong – and look how much trouble _that_ landed her.

I was halfway through my chicken when Jessica finally flounced to my table. I almost choked when I saw her. She was dressed head to toe in red bright enough to rival her fingernails. I moved my feet underneath my chair to prevent her heels from poking a hole in my toes. Those shoes looked like they could be used as a deadly weapon.

She leaned over to air kiss me on the cheek and then settled into her chair, showing off a fair amount of leg in the process. "What do you think" she asked, tossing her head.

I stared at her blankly. "About what?"

"My hair, silly. Doesn't it look glossier now?"

It looked exactly the same to me. "I guess. Why? Did you have something done to it?"

She tossed her brown hair over her shoulder and narrowly missed hitting a passing waiter in the face. "I took your advice," she told me in a confidential voice. "You know, the thing about the mud bath. I must say, it did a world of good. I'm starting to think you're really a beauty guru in disguise." She glanced at my dress and raised her eyebrows. "A really good disguise. You wear too many clothes."

I stuffed a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth so I wouldn't laugh outright at her. I swallowed too soon, though, and started choking – which I supposed was better than spitting the stuff all over her red dress. She'd given her hair a mud bath? Just because Mr. P had pushed me into Bea's flower garden the day before? Maybe I should keep her around after all, at least for the comedic value.

Jessica changed tacks when I didn't respond to her clothing criticism. "So tell me what you've been doing today," she said, picking up a menu and pretending to look at it.

"Don't you remember?" I asked, sure I'd told her I had a job interview. "I went to get a job."

"Oh, that's right. You were chasing that guy you met on the Monon Trail. Did you get lucky?"

"No, Sam wasn't there. But I did talk to the guy that owns the company, and I start on Tuesday. Isn't that great?"

She patted my hand sympathetically. "Yeah, that's great, honey. I hope your Sam comes back soon."

Somehow I didn't think she was all that thrilled that I'd landed a job so quickly. "I met his sister while I was there, and she told me he'd be back next week." I tried to shrug offhandedly. "I guess I'll see him when I see him."

"That's the spirit." When our server came to take her order she leaned back in her chair and looked him up and down before smiling slowly. "Hey there," she drawled, the southern accent back. It wasn't any better than it had been the last time I'd heard it. "I'm in the mood for a little sugar. Can you recommend anything for me?"

Our poor server's eyes bulged and he glanced behind him like he was searching for backup. "Um . . . I guess the cheesecake's all right," he mumbled, getting redder in the face every second. I could almost feel for him. He looked a little young to know how to handle someone like Jessica, especially when she was on the prowl. Either that or he was gay. I didn't actually know any gay people, so it was hard to know.

Jessica's eyes gleamed as she gave him back the menu, her fingers grazing his when she pulled her hands away. "Then that's what I'll get. But I might need help finishing it off."

By this point the guy's face was the same shade as Jessica's dress, and he almost ran into a table in his haste to get away.

"And that, my dear Katie, is how you give a guy your phone number."

I blinked at her. "You scared the poor kid," I protested. "I hardly think he'll ask you for anything, especially your number."

Jessica looked offended. "I didn't scare him," she said huffily. "I slipped a paper into his hand when I gave him the menu. He'll call tonight when he gets off work."

I looked at her curiously. "I thought you were after a rich husband," I blurted out. "I could be wrong, but isn't it a little unusual for a waiter to be in possession of a good fortune?"

She winked at me and leaned in closer. "This is all practice," she said. "I can hardly afford to get rusty. See, he's talking about me right now."

I looked over and saw him gesturing toward our table. He didn't seem any happier than he had when he'd been at our table, and I started eating faster in case he had his manager throw us out. I was pretty sure he couldn't do that just because some strange, overeager woman flirted horribly with him, but I didn't want to take any chances.

"Why don't we talk about something else?" I suggested, seeing that Jessica had folded her arms over her chest with a defiant scowl on her face. "How about books? Have you ever read _Pride and Prejudice_?"

She glowered at me a few seconds longer before relenting. Her features relaxed when she picked up my glass and drank thoughtfully from it. "I might have in high school," she said, swirling her finger in the condensation left on the table. "Isn't that the one with Matthew Macfadyen?"

Sighing, I rested my fork on my empty plate and pushed it away. Now I could get kicked out in peace. "That's not the best movie to get your _Pride and_ _Prejudice _knowledge from," I said. "I mean, it's not like Keira Knightley was a very good Elizabeth Bennet. She giggled too much."

"What's wrong with giggling? It lets the guy know you've been paying attention to him – and that you think he's funny. But anyway, I didn't notice a whole lot about the movie. I was on a date when I saw it, so I might have missed some of the finer points." She gave me an exaggerated wink and blew me a kiss. I tried not to roll my eyes but failed miserably.

Jessica's dessert materialized in front of her, and when she turned her head to thank the server he'd already disappeared. I did have time to notice that it had been brought by a new person, this time female.

"Then what do you like to read? You must do something with all your extra time."

The look Jessica threw at me made me think that I'd suddenly sprouted horns. "Read? Why would I do that? I'm way too busy to sit down with a book." She said the last word with a great amount of distaste, but went on in a more defensive tone when I looked at her curiously. "I read, okay? Just nothing longer than an article in the fashion magazines. They're very informative, you know."

To each her own. So what if she didn't really understand the power of Jane Austen and her social commentary? I'd never opened a fashion magazine, and I doubted I'd understand it if I did.

I shrugged and reclaimed my glass but put it down again when I spotted the red lip marks along the edge. I didn't know Jessica _that_ well, after all. "So what do you want to do now? I'm finished with dinner, you haven't touched your dessert, and I haven't seen anything worth looking at since I sat down an hour ago."

She glanced at her untouched plate and dug a long fingernail into the cheesecake. She lifted it to her lips and sucked it clean, all the while batting her eyes at the waiter tending the table next to ours. He must have been warned about her, though, because he kept his eyes firmly on his order pad. "I think we should enjoy the scenery while we're here," she announced, evidently giving up on the local wait staff. "Look out to the sidewalk and I'll show you what I mean."

Obediently I turned my gaze to the street and saw nothing more interesting than people parading up and down, to all appearances minding their own business. "Very interesting," I said in a very un-interested voice.

"No, Katie. _Look_." She reached over the table and grabbed my chin, forcing my head in the direction she wanted. I squinted to see what she was referring to, and saw two young men lounging against the corner of a building down the block. It was growing too dark to make out any details, but I wasn't all that impressed.

I shook my head to dislodge it from Jessica's grasp and propped it on my hand. "So? They don't look all that exciting to me."

"Come on, Katie. They appear to be healthy, there aren't any girls clinging to them, and they're just standing there waiting for us to come along. Let's go. I bet they'd love to talk to us." She had her hand up in a flash for the check, which she gave to me. "I left my wallet at home," she explained distractedly, keeping an eye on the men across the street. "Next time it's on me."

I sighed and dug my debit card out of the wallet which I'd remembered to bring, seeing as how we were going out to dinner at a restaurant where you had to pay for the food you consumed. I was starting to think that maybe Jessica and I weren't meant to be bosom buddies. I was surprised when the thought brought with it a sense of relief.

After we left the restaurant Jessica grabbed my arm and started moving purposefully toward the corner where we'd spotted our prey. Even in the growing darkness I could tell that they'd either seen us coming and run or they'd been more interested in something – or someone – else and had moved on. "I think we're out of luck," I told Jessica, wrenching my arm from her grasp and hoping she hadn't left nail marks on my skin.

She pouted and crossed her arms under her bust line, scanning the streets around us. "Well, we'll keep looking," she announced. "I didn't come all the way down here just to stand around."

"I thought you came downtown to have dinner with me," I said pointedly. "Since when do you have to talk to a guy to make your evening worthwhile? I say we do something besides roam the streets of Indianapolis looking for guys who have nothing better to do than stand on corners and look bored."

Jessica's eyes flashed at this and she stalked across the street, her feet making loud clicking noises as her heels hit the cement with unnecessary force. I halfway expected to see sparks fly from her feet. She remained silent until she was in the middle of the intersection when she stopped cold and shrieked, "Josh! What are you doing here?"

Great. She'd met someone after all, and I'd just wasted my breath on a speech that she'd forgotten as soon as my words had drifted through her head.

"Katie? Is that you?"

This voice I knew. I turned around in shock to see the familiarly crazy hair of my brother, Oliver, who was standing next to a man I could only describe as well-built – and short. He might even have been shorter than me, and that was saying something. His arm muscles were so big his elbows couldn't touch his sides, and I wondered how long it had taken him to get that way. Then he vanished as Oliver gave me a huge hug.

"I can't believe I found you!" he said, squeezing me one last time before letting me go.

"I left you a note in the mailbox telling you where I'd be," I reminded him, grinning. "And here you thought I'd be sitting at home in my pajamas, eating Ben & Jerry's in front of the television." A car honked and the four of us scurried off the street and onto the sidewalk.

I didn't think Josh had taken even one look at me, but I could tell the exact moment that Oliver's eyes landed on Jessica. His mouth dropped so far I could have counted the fillings in his back molars, and he adopted that glazed expression guys get when they see a girl who has plenty to show off. It didn't help that Jessica's dress left little to the imagination. "This is Jessica Haskins, by the way," I said, motioning to my erstwhile dinner partner. Jessica lowered her lashes demurely and took a deep breath, making her already impressive chest even more obvious. I could almost hear Oliver salivate.

Oliver swallowed convulsively when I elbowed his side and he held out his hand for her to shake. He managed to get out, "Pleased to meet you," before forgetting my presence completely.

"I know you're already friends with my brother," Jessica said breathily, "but your sister isn't. This is Josh," she told me. "You know, the one that went to school with Ollie."

Josh nodded vaguely in my direction as though I wasn't interesting enough to acknowledge properly, and leaned against the corner of the building we were next to. What was it with guys leaning against things? Did they think it made them more attractive?

Oliver seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd fallen into and moved closer to Jessica. "Would you two care to join us poor bachelors this evening? We've just been wandering around, hoping we'd run into someone more interesting than we are. It would appear that we've found what we were looking for."

Jessica tucked her arm through his and smiled at him. "I can't think of anything I'd like better," she told him. "We have so much to catch up on. How long has it been since we saw each other last?"

I lost the rest of their conversation when they moved forward, leaving me and Josh to follow after them. He tore his gaze from a car that had just passed us and, sticking his hands in his pockets, grunted in my direction. He didn't seem too pleased to be stuck with me, and when we reached the next intersection he grabbed Jessica's arm and started hissing in her ear. No wonder Oliver hadn't seen him since college. I wondered what had possessed him to renew their acquaintance now.

Oliver moved away to give them some privacy and I grinned up at him. "I got a job today."

He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed it. "Really? Congratulations! I thought it'd take a lot longer than that." The light changed and we crossed behind Jessica and Josh, who was scowling at whatever she was saying.

"I did, too," I confessed, realizing for the first time that the job had practically been placed in my lap. "I start on Tuesday, same as you. Have you met Mr. Poppikins yet?"

Oliver was quiet long enough that I glanced up at him. He seemed to be mesmerized by Jessica's backside.

"Oliver!" I snapped. "Wipe the drool off your face or you'll look even more ridiculous than you already are. It's not like she's the first girl you've ever noticed."

He turned to me slowly, his eyes slightly glazed over. "Did I hear you say she lives down the street from us?"

The Haskins must have slowed down because it was at that point that we caught up to them, and Jessica immediately moved to Oliver's other side, linking her arm through his again. "We're neighbors," she drawled. That fake southern accent was really starting to get on my nerves. "You'll be seeing so much of me you won't know what to do with yourself."

I coughed to hide my snort of laughter. I knew exactly what Oliver would do when he saw as much of Jessica as she'd shown she was willing to display. He'd choke, hyperventilate, and pass out. And not necessarily in that order.

Josh took my other side, to get as far away from his sister as he could, I was sure, and the four of us walked toward the mall, Jessica and Oliver quickly getting ahead. I could see Josh looking at me out of the corner of his eye before he sighed heavily. "You have a famous name," he said as his eyes slid away from me.

Well, at least he was trying to be polite. I laughed a little and put my hands behind my back. "I get that a lot. But there's no relation, so it's just a crazy fluke. I heard she's been in some trouble recently."

He shrugged, not taking his eyes from the cars driving past. What could possibly be so interesting out there?

Jessica took pity on me and called over her shoulder, "Yeah, I heard that too. I guess her dad laid down the law and now she's staying away from the party scene. I heard something about her having to prove that she's trustworthy before he'll let her out of his sight. It's gotta stink, being the senator's daughter. Whenever you screw up the entire state knows."

I was mildly impressed. I had to admit to myself that I hadn't pegged Jessica as the empathetic type. "Well, _this_ Katie Embury has to work for a living, not just to please her daddy," I said.

"Well, I'm sure your daddy will be thrilled to hear you have a job." Jessica turned away from me and rested her head on Oliver's shoulder. He didn't seem to mind.

"So where do you work?"

Josh's question took me by surprise. I didn't think he'd remembered that I was there. "Peter's Perfect Catering. Have you heard of it?"

That was all it took to gain Josh's complete attention. "No way. How'd you manage that? Oh, you're probably on the operations staff."

I didn't have the faintest idea what that meant but I wasn't about to let him know that.

Josh regarded me silently for a second before saying, "Peter Selman has a yellow Ferrari. Did you see it when you were there?"

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond to such a random statement and hoped his random questions weren't a sign that he was losing his mind. I sure hadn't noticed anything special about the cars in the parking lot while I was there. Of course, I hadn't really been looking. "Um, no?"

"Girls and cars," he muttered under his breath. "What kind of car do you drive?" He must have figured that was an easy question to answer, and I could have told him what I used to drive, but I hadn't inspected George's all that carefully. "Um . . . " I realized I looked idiotic, but I knew better than to make something up. "It's yellow?"

He just shook his head and held the door open. I hadn't even noticed that Oliver and Jessica had stopped walking and had entered a restaurant. Maybe the waiters here would be more interested in Jessica's charming manners than the last ones were. But from the way she was leaning into Oliver as he led her to a table in the back, I doubted she'd try.

After Oliver had settled himself in his chair (how could he not mind that Jessica was seriously invading his personal space?) he tilted his chair back and draped his arm loosely over the back of Jessica's seat. Then he looked at me and said, "Mom ordered me to have you call her when I got in. She seems to think you've already forgotten her."

I rolled my eyes heavenward and Oliver started to laugh. "I think I'll need to get the computer hooked up when we get back home," he told me. "Maybe if we send her daily emails she won't get so offended. But you'd better call tonight before it gets too late or she may show up on our doorstep intent on bringing you back to Vincennes."

When I grudgingly pulled my new phone out of my bag the front legs of Oliver's chair hit the floor with a thud. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, grabbing it from me and inspecting it closely. "This must have cost you a small fortune."

"My boss gave it to me," I said, glaring at him. "Is it so strange for me to have a cell phone? Give it back so I can call Mom."

He grinned at me and slid it across the table. "Yeah, as a matter of fact it _is_ very strange for you to own one of these," he said, slightly stymied about the whole thing. "Really, Katie, you're hopeless when it comes to technology. Why ever did you get it?"

"I already told you," I reminded him in a superior voice. "My new boss, Mr. Selman, got it for me. He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, so here I am."

"Wait a minute." Josh turned from his perusal of the scene outside the window and stared at me, obviously dumbfounded. "I thought you said you worked for Peter's Perfect Catering."

"I do," I said, wondering if he was exhibiting early signs of dementia. "I'm Mr. Selman's new personal assistant."

Josh's eyes widened and then narrowed. He must have been doing some fast thinking. "I see," he said. "Well, if Mr. Selman thinks Katie should have a cell then he's probably right."

"Thank you," I told him. "I'm glad someone thinks it's a good idea." Oliver kicked me under the table and I smiled sweetly at him.

"I imagine you'll get to go to all the swanky parties that he throws," Josh said with no little envy. "Lucky you."

The way he said it made me think that 'lucky' was an understatement. "Have you ever been to something that he's hosted?"

He shrugged and, after seeing how close Oliver and Jessica were to each other, scooted his chair toward mine. "I went to a party that he gave at the museum," he said, "but that's the only time. Of course, I was working then, so I'm not sure it counts."

I shifted my seat away from his. At this rate I'd be sitting at the next table before my glass of water came.

"You work at a museum?" Man, my judgmental skills wereout in full force tonight. This was the second time I'd been surprised by something a Haskins sibling had said. I'd have to consider giving them the benefit of the doubt from now on. There was no reason for me to think Josh, especially, was anything but a wonderful, honest human being. Even if he'd only talked to me after he'd discovered I worked for Peter Selman.

Our waiter (a girl) took the others' orders, and Josh gave me a questioning glance when I said I didn't want anything.

"I already ate," I told him without looking at Jessica.

He nodded, and his voice got a tint of self-importance in it when he answered my question from before. "I work at the Hall of Fame museum, right inside the track," he told me, puffing out his chest. "Been there several years now. It's the best job in the city."

Oh, the museum about all the old Indy cars. We'd visited it right before Josie was born (Dad had thought it would be a good idea to give us a little family vacation before a new baby in the house made any trips too complicated to think about), but since automobiles weren't really my thing I hadn't gone out of my way to remember much of our outing – except for the part when Oliver fell into the fountain. Seeing him emerge from the fountain shocked, dripping wet and with no spare clothes to change into had made all the old racing stories I'd suffered through worthwhile.

"I think I've been there once," I said, eyeing my brother and grinning. "Do you remember, Oliver?"

He shot me a warning glare. "I've actually been since we were kids," he told me pointedly, "so I'm not sure which time you're referring to. I'm sure you had a lovely, non-remarkable time, though."

"If you say so," I said, trying not to laugh. "So, Josh, what do you do at the museum? Do you ever get to attend one of the races?"

"I went to the 500 just this year. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever experienced, and I've seen a lot of cool stuff working there. We were in the Turn Two Suites, right as the cars come out of the short shute between the first two turns. It looks like the cars are going to hit you right before they turn. Some poor guy with us almost wet himself the first time he saw it. And you're only like six feet from the track."

I stared at him, amazed that so many words could come out of his mouth at a time. He was starting to show a strange resemblance to Mr. Collins hooked on racecars instead of theology. Fortunately, though, Josh wasn't intent on marrying me. "It sounds fascinating," I said finally. "I'm sure the poor guy who was with you was really embarrassed."

"Oh, he was." He shifted slightly in his chair and cleared his throat. "But he's okay now. Hey, we should get together tomorrow. I can show you the museum on my day off."

"That's a great idea," Jessica cried, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Why don't we go with them, Ollie? It'd be such fun to act like tourists!"

He grinned at her when she placed the hand that had been holding mine on top of his knee. "Sounds like fun," he said easily. "What do you say, Katie? Are you up for the grand tour?"

I shot him a look that was supposed to say that I didn't really want to be dragged across the city while he made cow eyes at my neighbor, but he was too far gone to understand. "I actually have dinner plans tomorrow," I told him, not really feeling bad. Maybe Josh could act as their unsuspecting tourist. "But I'll take a rain check."

Oliver gave me a strange look. "Where are you – " he started before glancing at Josh and amending what he was going to say. "What time is your dinner?" he asked after a small cough.

"I need to be there at six."

"Well, we'll just have to have you home before then. What do you say, Josh? Can you show my little sister a more interesting side of the greatest spectacle in racing?"

He smiled at me indulgently and opened his mouth to agree, but something outside the restaurant caught his attention and he sat there for a second, his mouth hanging open. I followed his gaze but all I could see was the traffic steadily streaming by. "What? Oh, yeah, the museum. Sure, let's go. It'll be fun to show you around." He reached over to rest his hand on the back of my chair, and I stared at his hand pointedly. He didn't take the hint, though, and left his arm where it was. I'll be at Jessica's around noon. Will that give you enough time to get ready, Jessica?"

Jessica's eyes narrowed at her brother, but when she gazed up at Oliver her expression was pure sweetness and light. "I can be ready any time you like," she cooed. "Any time at all."

It was good that the food arrived then, because if the conversation kept up in that vein I was sure I'd be ill. And since I had a hot (well, maybe more like lukewarm), albeit unwanted, date the next day, I could hardly stand to come down with a stomach ailment.

Then again, maybe I _could_ handle a little indigestion.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their comments! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. It'd be a lot more boring if it weren't for the efforts of the tireless Linnea and my poor beleaguered brother C.J. Good luck with that cat.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It couldn't have been much past six in the morning when the phone blared in my ear. I covered my head with my pillow, waiting for Oliver to answer it. When the ringing stopped abruptly mid-ring I smiled and closed my eyes, glad for once that Oliver was such a light sleeper.

My sense of gratitude disappeared when the phone rang again not twenty seconds later, and, still under the pillow, I reached out and grabbed the thing. "Hello?" I said, none too pleasantly.

"Well, it's about time you talked to your mother."

Crap. I'd never gotten around to calling her the night before, and now I was paying a very steep price for my forgetfulness. "Mom, you do know it's six in the morning on a Saturday, right?"

"You should be up already! It's high time you thought about being productive. There are only so many daylight hours, you know. Now, what's this I hear about you finding a job?"

How in the world had she heard that? "Have you already spoken to Oliver?"

"Yes, he was a good son and answered the phone the first time I called. He told me to call back so you could tell me all about this job of yours. What kind of work are you doing? Will you get to meet the governor?"

My mother had been fascinated with state government for years, claiming that the people who ran our state were a far sight better than the scoundrels in Washington. She'd always wanted to meet the governor. Maybe she figured I'd do it for her since I now lived in the same city as he did.

"No, mom. I'll be working for a catering company. I'm the boss's personal assistant."

"Well, isn't that what you were doing for Bob?"

I flopped over on my back and breathed deeply. "I guess. But this guy's paying me a lot more money."

"Hm." Even over the phone I could feel her frown. "Well, I hope you enjoy yourself. I still think you could have found something here at home rather than traipsing off to that crime-ridden city."

"Mom . . . "

Perhaps sensing that she wasn't going to win this discussion, my mother changed tactics. "Tell me about the city boys," she said with a brisk tone. "I'm sure someone has caught your fancy. You've been there a whole week."

First she was upset that I'd moved out, now she was trying to marry me off to someone who lived in the city she'd been disparaging. Couldn't she make up her mind? "There are a lot of men here, Mom," I said, sitting up. I was fully awake by now, and I knew that once she got her teeth into a topic it was hard to get her to disengage. "I met Oliver's old roommate last night, and he seemed nice enough."

Mom was quiet for a minute. "Oh, you mean that poor short fellow that invited Oliver to his house that one year," she finally said. "The one that dropped out of school before he got his degree. Whatever happened to him?"

He dropped out of college? Well, I supposed lots of people did that. "He works at the Indy 500 museum," I told her. "He and his sister are taking Oliver and me on a tour this afternoon."

"Oo, a sister!" Mom had been worried since Oliver's twenty-first birthday that he'd take so long to get married that by the time he finally got around to it he'd be too old to enjoy his children. "Tell me all about her. What's her name? Would I like her?"

Well, actually, I was pretty sure Mom wouldn't approve of Jessica at all, and the way she dressed would cause her eyebrows to permanently reside in her fake-blonde hair. And that wasn't even going into Jessica's predatory man-hunting urges. "Her name's Jessica and she lives down the street from us," I said after drawing a blank on Jessica's commendable qualities as a future wife. "She seemed very interested in Oliver last night. But she calls him Ollie."

"Well, you'll just have to break her of that habit. After the first time your cousin Neville called Oliver 'Ollie-Polly' as a baby, I swore that no one would ever think about doing that again. And then there was that whole thing with Ollie North . . . Well, I'm sure once you explain it to Jessica she'll stop right away."

I wasn't so sure of that, but far be it from me to argue with logic based on cousin Neville. And politics.

After I finally got off the phone (with repeated assurance that I'd check in more often than once a week, and after I'd grudgingly given her my new cell phone number) I tucked the phone under the bed for safekeeping and tried to go back to sleep. But Mr. P must have been listening outside my door, because the second my head hit the pillow again he was standing next to my bed, food bowl in his mouth.

He stared at me until I sighed heavily and rolled out of bed. "Mr. P, I think you need to make Oliver's acquaintance tomorrow morning," I muttered as I followed him to the kitchen. "It's about time someone else didn't get to sleep in."

I sat next to him on the couch in the sunroom as he munched his breakfast, and halfway through his cartoon I decided he needed some variety in his Saturday morning routine. After all, who wants to watch Tweety beat Sylvester the same way over and over again? I flipped to the public television station and laughed when I saw Clifford bouncing around the screen. "That could be you, you know," I told him, nudging his side with my foot. "You just need to decide to be helpful instead of destructively enthusiastic. I think you should try it for a change."

Mr. P just rolled a baleful eye in my direction and continued eating.

***

It wasn't until I'd emerged from my bedroom, showered and ready to endure several hours of mind-numbing facts about old Indy 500 racecars that Oliver stumbled out of his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He sank into an armchair in the sunroom and gazed at Mr. P blearily.

"That's a mighty big dog."

I snorted. "That's the best you can come up with? I've been thinking of re-christening him Clifford. What do you think?"

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his hand along his stubbly chin. "Clifford who?"

I stared at him in disbelief. I knew for a fact that he'd watched as many Saturday morning cartoons as I had.

"I don't care what you call him as long as he doesn't chew on my shoes," Oliver went on. He propped his feet on the sofa next to him and stretched. I think every bone in his upper body cracked before he relaxed again.

"I had a good time last night," he said conversationally. "It was very lucky that we met you and Jessica when we did."

"Lucky? I told you exactly where we'd be."

"Yeah, but you weren't there when we came looking for you, so it was lucky that we followed you in the right direction. What did you think of Josh?"

I pulled a face. "I don't think we're soul mates, if that's what you're asking."

"It's because he's short, isn't it?"

It took a second for his meaning to sink in. "What? His height has nothing to do with it. He just wasn't all that interested in me, at least at first, and I don't think he's terribly exciting in return. That's all."

Oliver managed to look offended for his friend. "Just because he didn't fall in love with you the second he laid eyes on you doesn't mean he's a bad person," he said huffily. "And I hardly think you can tell how interesting a person is based on one conversation. He has all sorts of interests."

I tried to raise one eyebrow but could feel them both elevated on my forehead. Maybe, if I continued to practice . . . "Like what?"

Oliver paused to think. "Well, he really likes cars."

"I got that already."

"And racing. He's a fount of information about the speedway."

"I know. I endured an hour of him rhapsodizing about his job. Tell me something that doesn't involve an inanimate object with a steering wheel."

Oliver leaned his head back against the cushions and thought for a long time. "He loves his mother."

At this I threw a pillow at him, and for once my aim was good enough to hit him in the side of the head. "Oliver, we don't have anything in common with each other. I'm sorry that I'm not horribly in love with your old college friend, but that's the way it is."

"I bet your story would be different if he had a working knowledge of Jane Austen."

I folded my hands primly in my lap and raised my chin so I could look down my nose at him. "If he read, and liked, anything by Miss Austen we wouldn't be having this conversation. He'd be a completely different person."

He slid down in his seat so he could rub Mr. P's ears. Go for it, I thought. Maybe he'll decide he likes you better than me and he'll bring his breakfast bowl into your room from now on.

"You're just a _Pride and Prejudice_ snob, Katie, pure and simple. Not everyone can be a Mr. Darcy, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise. I'd think you could give Josh a chance. He's very lonely, and could use a friend."

I almost asked him if Josh's best friend was his weight machine but thought that might be just a little low. "Why doesn't he live with his sister?" I asked. "It's just her in that house. Surely there's room for him, too."

Oliver sighed and plopped onto the floor where Mr. P, who was purring like a cat, rested his head on Oliver's legs and turned over to present his stomach for another round of petting. "Josh doesn't get out much," he said. "He spends most of his time at work trying to impress his boss into promoting him, or at home with his mother. It's not really his fault that he's awkward around girls."

Yes, it is, I said silently. "So you want me to take him on as a charity case?"

Oliver lifted surprised eyes to mine. "Not at all. All I'm asking you to do is go into our excursion this afternoon with an open mind. Just give him a chance to prove that there's more to Josh Haskins than racecars."

I sighed and leaned my head back to stare at the ceiling. "All right," I told him. "I'll try."

***

By three o'clock, though, my resolution to see Josh in a more amiable light had vanished. Oliver and I had arrived at Jessica's house promptly at twelve, and instead of two Haskins siblings there was only one – and this one was armed with a list of things that needed to be repaired around her house. It was a testament to Oliver's nice factor that he never once told her he wasn't a handyman – or maybe he wanted to impress her with his manly hammer-wielding. It was hard to tell with Oliver. Instead, he hammered and hung and patched up wherever she told him. After watching Jessica trot after Oliver with her screwdriver in hand for two hours I was ready to call it quits.

"You can't go yet!" Jessica cried when I told them I was going home. "I'm sure Josh will be here any minute. Something must have come up at work."

"Why don't we just call him?" Oliver asked, repeating the same question I'd been asking since half past twelve. "Maybe we can meet him down there and save him the trip."

Why, oh why was Oliver so nice? It was fairly clear to me that Josh had either forgotten (although since we'd made our plans just last night that didn't bode well for his memory, which I was already a little suspicious of) or he'd received a better offer. Either way, he wasn't looking all that great, and I glared at Oliver pointedly.

"You can't call him at home," she said with a pout. "If the phone rings while Mama's taking her afternoon nap she gets upset."

Mama? Wait, Oliver had said something before about Josh spending most of his time at home with his mother. "Does Josh still live at home?"

"Well, of course, honey. Where else could he go after he'd been kicked out of school the way he was?"

There was a huge difference between dropping out of college and being kicked out of it. "Dare I ask why he had to leave so suddenly?" I asked, knowing it was a very personal question but unable to stop myself.

Jessica didn't seem offended and waved her hand in the air, the list she was holding flapping around. "I don't really know," she said airily. "Something to do with his senior project. I'm sure he was innocent; Josh would never cheat."

It seemed that Jessica knew, or remembered, more than she was willing to let on. I looked Oliver in the eye accusingly, and he lowered his head to stare at the carpet – which, I noticed, needed a good cleaning. "Well, if we can't call him then I'm going home to bake cookies for my dinner tonight. Are you coming with me, Oliver?"

He hesitated, his eyes bouncing between me and Jessica.

She sidled up next to him and clung to his arm. "Let's go out anyway," she said breathily, making sure he had a clear view of her cleavage. "Just the two of us. I didn't have the teeniest chance last night to hear what you've been doing since college, and I'm sure it's fascinating. Katie can come too, if she likes."

It's always so refreshing to be an afterthought. Now I knew how poor Mary Bennet felt; no one ever paid attention to her unless she did something mortifying. No wonder she always kept her nose in a book. At least that way she could go about her business in peace.

"Why don't we go for a drive?" Jessica went on as Oliver wrenched his gaze away from his new best friend. I had to hand it to her. She was amazingly adaptable when the situation called for it. "It's such a nice day out."

A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and I laughed out loud. "Yes, beautiful. Make sure you take some sunscreen." Then I kissed Oliver on the cheek, patted Jessica on the back (while trying to pull the top of her shirt higher), and made my escape.

***

I'd never been stood up before and the experience made me realize that it's only polite to be punctual – and if you can't be on time, to at least have the common courtesy to call ahead with a good explanation. So, with that in mind, I arrived on the Fredericks' door five minutes early.

Not knowing if the baby would be asleep (don't babies take naps at strange times of the day?) I knocked quietly. It must have been too quiet, because I stood there for a long time, wondering if I dared ring the doorbell. Just as my finger was ready to take the plunge and push the button faint squealing sounds drifted through the cat flap.

The squealing got louder, and, deciding the sound was too high and squeaky to be Junie, I took my arm off auto-pause and rang. A few seconds later the door was thrown open to reveal a very disheveled Fred.

"Katie! Come on in! I was just entertaining my girl here." He stepped aside to let me through and I saw Addy lying on a blanket, her little legs kicking like she was an Olympic swimmer on the last lap of her race. She had a look of extreme concentration on her face.

Fred took the plate of cookies I'd brought and picked up his daughter with his free hand. I must have looked concerned because he laughed and tucked her more securely under his arm. "She likes to be carried like this," he told me cheerfully. "I must say that when the ladies at the hospital told me I could lug her around like a football I was a little unsure, but I haven't dropped her yet! Wish I could say the same about all those footballs in high school."

Addy gave one more mighty kick and I grabbed my cookies before Fred had to decide which to drop. Junie met our little party in the kitchen and hugged me briefly.

"I know people usually bring flowers to dinner parties," I told her a little apologetically, "but I needed to burn off some steam so I made cookies instead. I hope you don't mind."

She laughed and moved them out of her husband's reach. "You never have to apologize for cookies," she said. "I haven't baked a whole lot since Addy was born, and certain people have been complaining recently that the only baked goods they get are the ones they pilfer from their partners at work." She shot a pointed look at Fred, who immediately turned to buckle Addy into her high chair.

Trying to be diplomatic, I sniffed the air appreciatively and said to Junie, "It certainly smells good in here. I hope you haven't gone to too much trouble."

She shooed me to the table and wagged a finger in my direction. "I love to cook. Any excuse I have to spend some uninterrupted time in the kitchen is a good excuse. Now sit down and eat."

Fred leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on his wife's smiling mouth and did as he was told. Halfway through dinner Junie took a drink of water and looked at me.

"How's the job hunt going? Did you get hired at Peter's Perfect Catering?"

Trying to remember how much information I'd shared with her in the park, I swallowed the forkful of food I'd just stuffed in my mouth and nodded. "I did. But I didn't think I'd told you which catering company I was applying to. Did I?"

Fred laughed and gazed fondly at his wife. "Junie's very observant," he told me. "She picks up things most ordinary people look over. Not that she's any match for the police department, but she's very good at remembering details."

Junie wrinkled her nose at him. "You said you met a guy named Sam whose father owned a catering company. There are only so many businesses that fit that profile." She shrugged. "My dad was a detective for so long that I never knew him doing anything else. He taught me a long time ago to be attentive to my surroundings. What are you going to be doing there? I always thought catering sounded interesting."

I shrugged and reached for a biscuit. "I don't know how much catering I'll be doing, to tell you the truth," I said as I dripped honey all over my fingers. "I'll actually be Mr. Selman's personal assistant. Whatever that means."

"You don't seem overly concerned."

"Well," I said around a mouthful of the best-tasting biscuit I'd ever had the pleasure of eating, "I worked for my uncle for a while after college. Whatever Mr. Selman does, it can't be as bad as that."

Fred and Junie exchanged a look I couldn't decipher. "Word on the street is that Selman's very particular," Junie said after a long pause. "My kid sister worked there this summer to earn some money for a car, and she said he'd had three p.a.s this year alone."

I chewed thoughtfully, wondering if I were being too cavalier in my attitude toward my new profession. "Four, actually," I said, remembering Hannah's words from the day before. "But really, as long as I do what he tells me to do and don't ask too many questions, how bad can it be?"

Junie leaned back in her chair and tugged on one of Addy's feet affectionately. "I hope he's as tractable as you think," she told me, her face turning serious. "I'd hate for my new friend to be disappointed so soon after moving in."

I grinned at her and started to stack the empty plates. It was good to have a normal friend on my side. I was sure Jessica considered us 'friends' of sorts, but a little of her kind of friendship went a long way. "I'll try to keep the hysterics at the office," I promised. "You have enough tears around here without my help."

Right on cue Addy decided she was hungry and let out a pitiful wail.

"See?" I asked, dropping a kiss on the baby's bald head. "She's a girl after my own heart."

***

The next day I had a hard time getting Junie's and Fred's warnings out of my head. What if I'd signed on for something I couldn't handle? I still didn't understand how I'd gotten the job in the first place; surely there was a reasonable explanation for that strange interview. I wondered again if perhaps Mr. Selman thought I was the other Katie, but dismissed that idea quickly. After all, who would believe that Katie Embury, famous for partying and making her parents cringe, would be interested in a job at a catering company – or anywhere else?

Oliver watched me pace around the house, Mr. P always trailing several feet behind me. The third time we passed him he grabbed my hand and hauled me onto the couch next to him.

"What in the world has got your knickers all bunched up?" he demanded, keeping his hands on my arms. "If you're not careful you and Mr. Poppikins'll wear a path into the carpet. You're not still upset that Josh didn't show up yesterday, are you?"

All the nervous energy seemed to drain out of my body, and I slumped back into the sofa, curling my legs up. "What if I'm no good at being a personal assistant?" I all but wailed, burying my face into a cushion. "I don't think I could handle being fired."

"You were fired just last week, and you managed to survive."

"For the last time, _I wasn't fired_! I was rendered unnecessary by Uncle Bob's crazy need for retirement."

"Whatever." Oliver rolled his eyes. "Come on, you can't seriously be worried about that job thing. Just do your best and everything else will work out. Just like always."

His use of Dad's mantra made me smile, which I was sure was his intention. "Yes, father," I said meekly, and shifted sideways to miss the pillow he threw at me. "You know, you're sounding more and more like him every day."

"Shut up." He didn't sound like he minded the comparison all that much.

"I didn't hear you come in last night," I said. "Did you have a good time yesterday?"

He got a dreamy smile on his face. "Jess is really great, isn't she?"

'Great' wasn't the first word that came to my mind when thinking about Jessica Haskins. "Have you told her yet what you want to do after you get your MBA?"

Oliver's face dimmed a little. "No," he told me slowly. "We haven't really gone into my future plans. She seems more interested in having fun in than doing any serious talking."

"Hm."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I'd just opened my mouth to say something I was sure I'd regret later, seeing as how I had to live with my brother for the next twelve months, when the phone rang. Oliver picked it up without taking his eyes off me. "Hello? Oh, hi, Josh. Yeah, we had fun without you. Sure, she's sitting right here." He held the phone out to me. "It's for you."

I glared at him but took the receiver anyway. "Hi, Josh."

"How'd you know it was me?"

Oh, please. Did he really think I was that dumb? "Oliver told me."

"Huh. Hey, I was calling to see if you wanted to go to dinner with me tomorrow night."

This guy couldn't be for real. "I'm not sure," I said, sitting up straight and swinging my feet onto the floor. "The last time you asked me to do something with you you never showed up."

There was no sound on the other end of the phone. Finally, in a voice a little less confident than it had been only a few seconds before, Josh said, "I'm sorry I never called. I wanted to, honest, but I got called into work at the last minute and I couldn't get away."

"Oh." Well, this wasn't what I was expecting to hear. "I still wish you'd called. I've never been stood up before, and it wasn't very pleasant."

"Let me make it up to you." Josh spoke so quickly his words tumbled together. "Let me take you to dinner Tuesday. We can celebrate your first day on the job. Oliver and Jessica can come, too."

I glanced at Oliver. He was staring at me, a hopeful expression on his face. I rested my head in my hands. It would be so much easier to tell Josh to leave me alone if my brother weren't infatuated with Jessica. "I don't think he'd mind," I told him after one more glance in Oliver's direction. His eyes had grown more pleading the longer I remained silent. What the heck, I thought. Let him get this out of his system before he has to study twenty-three hours a day. After all, I'd promised myself that I'd try to see the good qualities in Josh, and this was as good a time as any. "I'll let you know what time I get off work on Tuesday."

He rattled off his cell phone number, which made me think that if he had a cell phone the least he could have done the day before was take it into his break room and call us, but he'd started talking about some car he'd seen on the road that day. Something about a Corvette Stingray. Or maybe it was a Stingray Corvette. Did it really matter? I let his words float in and out of my brain, making noises at appropriate times, until Oliver's snores got too loud to ignore.

"I'll talk to you later, Josh," I said the next time he had to pause for breath.

"What? Oh, okay. Talk to you then."

I spent most of the next afternoon in the kitchen, baking yet another batch of cookies. After all, they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? With any luck I'd win over the irascible Mr. Selman with my version of a peace offering.

And if I was really lucky, Sam would come by and I'd test the theory out on him, too.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! I love to hear what you think.

Thanks too for Linnea (who's betaed every chapter I've written and has never once complained) and C.J., who also hasn't complained about his role as research assistant. At least, he hasn't yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The sound of the door slamming behind Oliver Tuesday morning woke me up and I jerked to a sitting position, looking wildly around for my alarm clock. It was only five thirty, and I sank back into the pillows, my heart going a mile a minute. I'd dreamt all night that the alarm hadn't gone off at all and I'd missed the first three hours of work, only to show up wearing a huge chocolate chip cookie. Maybe I should stop making them.

Mr. P was still asleep when I came into the kitchen, fully dressed and more anxious than I cared to admit, even to myself. "Wake up, sleepyhead," I called, poking his bed with my toe. It was kind of nice to be the one doing the wake-up call for a change. He rolled over and cracked an eye open to look at me for a millisecond before going back to his original position and snuffling loudly.

I flipped through my doggie manual to see how I was supposed to handle a dog while fully employed outside the home and found a single page at the back of the binder with only these words on it: _If you need to be gone during the day, please unlatch the dog door and make sure the gate outside is closed and locked. We don't want any mistakes in the house!_ I rolled my eyes and read on. _Make sure his stuffed animals are near his bed. They comfort him when he's alone._

Stuffed animals? How had I never noticed any? I poked around Mr. P as best I could and came up with not one, but two stuffed dachshunds. Bea must have thought Mr. P would view them as his little brothers or something. I was just grateful that Oliver didn't treat me and Josie the way Mr. P was treating his siblings – if that was what these stuffed things were supposed to represent.

I made it to the catering company's parking lot half an hour early, and seconds after I parked my mother called with last-minute advice. "Now, Katie, honey, I know this is your first day and I want to make sure everything goes just perfectly for you." I could practically feel her reach across the phone line to rub my back. "I know you're a big girl and all, but you should never underestimate the power of a beautiful smile. So be sure to take a toothbrush with you, and floss, too."

I sat there in the driver's seat, slightly stunned. I hadn't even had the chance to say 'hello' before she started in on me. "Mom, I don't think – "

"And another thing," she went on, pretending I hadn't interrupted her. "It's also important to remember to be respectful, even when your new boss does something you don't agree with. I know you were a little lippy with Bob, and that's different because he's family, but now you're in a different situation so you need to be sure you do what you're told without arguing."

I hadn't thought I'd argued with Bob. Maybe I'd grumbled now and then when he told me to take his dog to the vet, but that dog had it in for me. He'd peed on my new shoes, after all, and that should say something. "Mom, I know that – "

"Sweetie, I'm sure you'll do just fine. The only other piece of advice I have for you is that you should always make double copies."

"That's not very environmentally sound, Mom."

She clicked her tongue at me. "I know, but those big-city men can be devious when they need to, and I don't want anyone taking advantage of my little girl's trusting nature. So just do this one little thing for me, and your father and I will plant a tree in the backyard to make up for all the paper you'll be using."

I swear, my mother was becoming more like Mrs. Bennet every day. While I secretly dreamed that my life would emulate Elizabeth's, there were certain aspects that I was pretty sure I could do without. As long as my dad didn't start hiding in the library I might be safe. Of course, we didn't _have_ a library . . .

"Thanks, Mom," I said, trying to sound cheerful and grateful but only succeeding in sounding desperate. "I really appreciate all the advice. But now I've got to run. Can I email you later?"

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, and when her voice came back it wasn't quite as authoritative as it had been before. "Email? I suppose I could . . . "

"I'll send you a message tonight, then, after I get back from dinner. Tell Dad and Josie I said hey. Love you." Then, before she could utter another syllable, I snapped the phone closed and leaned my head back, breathing deeply. I should never have given my number to my mother.

After a second, though, I began to think about what she'd said. Not the respect thing; regardless of what she'd imagined, I'd always tried to do my best by Bob. But what if she was right, and I'd be protecting myself if I make an extra copy of everything I did at Peter's Perfect Catering? I'd never worked for anyone remotely like this guy before, and I hardly knew what kind of person he was. It couldn't hurt to watch my back. And Mom should know – she'd watched enough crime shows to have learned something besides how to be paranoid, right?

With that settled in my mind I walked purposefully through the front doors. Agnes was already ensconced behind her computer, and she looked at me with an expression that said she was not looking forward to yet another day of pandering to the masses. I smiled at her as widely as I could. "Hi, Agnes. I'm Katie."

She just sat there and stared at me, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. It was all I could do to stop myself from reaching over the computer and pushing them up on her nose. "I wanted to introduce myself," I went on, "since it looks like I'll be seeing you every day."

She stretched out her hand so slowly that I could barely see it moving and pushed the button that opened the door at the rear of the foyer. "Good day, Miss Embury."

My smile faltering a bit, I gripped my plate of cookies tighter and edged around her desk. On the way to Mr. Selman's office I vowed to win Agnes over to my side, no matter what – or how many cookies – it took. Maybe all she needed was a little love.

A vase of yellow flowers (was I never to escape the color yellow? It seemed to be following me everywhere) had been placed in front of my chair, and I breathed in their scent appreciatively after I'd dumped my things in a drawer. Working for Mr. Selman couldn't be all that bad if fresh flowers were included in the bargain.

Mr. Selman's office door was open, and I stuck my head in to see if he'd beaten me to work. I'd wanted to be there before him to show that I could be punctual, and for once my luck was holding. I walked in like I knew what I was supposed to be doing and opened the blinds. I tried opening the window to let some fresh air into the musty room but the lock was stuck, and in the process of trying to jar it loose the blinds got caught in my hair. The more I whacked at those stupid blinds the more hairs got pulled out, and I finally wrenched myself loose and fled the scene, hoping no one noticed that a few of them were now pointing in haphazard directions. Maybe no one had seen me wrestle with an inanimate object.

I sat in my chair, slightly freaked by the whole thing, and yanked open a drawer in search of something – anything -- to help put my head back together. The only thing I found, apart from a myriad of pens and pencils, which I stuck into my impromptu bun at random (I was sure I looked like I'd been attacked by a mad knitter, but there was nothing else to use), was a sticky note that said _Printer_ on it.

I looked at the printer with some apprehension. Was something wrong with it? I hadn't really paid much attention to it before, but now I saw that there were several small boxes lined up against its front.

I leaned over and picked one up. It seemed to contain an ink cartridge. I took a deep breath. There had, unfortunately, been something to what Oliver had said a few days before about me being a technological idiot. But if I didn't do this, who would? Surely not Mr. Selman. And really, how hard could it be?

I knew exactly how hard it could be fifteen minutes later. Mr. Selman, to my great relief, had yet to walk into the building, but the printer was no closer to having new ink cartridges than I was. I put them back on the printer table and leaned my head against the machine, trying to communicate to it that I would appreciate its cooperation, when my elbow knocked one of the plastic containers onto the floor.

I stared down at it, hoping that this wasn't the printer's way of telling me to give up and go home before I made a complete fool of myself (and wondering where I'd picked up the habit of personifying office machinery) when I spotted something red oozing onto the floor.

I reached down to grab the box so fast that I fell out of my chair, and when I hit the ground my hand landed squarely on the thing. Before I knew it, red ink had blasted all over the carpet, across my hands, and onto my white blouse, making me look like I'd just been the victim of a shooter with such terrible aim that he'd had to try over and over again to hit just the right spot. I sat there on the floor for a long second, wiping at the stain on my front – which just made it worse – when a pair of brown loafers appeared under the table.

"Excuse me," said the voice I'd been thinking about for a week. "I don't mean to pry, but are you okay?"

Groaning inwardly, I ran a hand across my face and wished I could sneak out the back door. Why did Sam have to come across me in my worst possible moments? Darcy never accosted Elizabeth at inopportune times; even when he found her with her dress soaked in mud the only thing he thought of was how beautiful her eyes were. There was no way Sam was going to notice my brilliant green eyes over my fantastically murdered mid-section – or my gorgeous porcupine hairdo. "I'm fine," I said, hoping the hand I'd rubbed against my forehead hadn't been the one soaked in red ink. "I'm afraid I've had a bit of trouble, though."

There was silence on the other side of the printer for a moment, and then Sam made a noise that sounded, if not exactly like a laugh, then close enough to make me wish I'd been too sick to come in that morning. "Are you going to come out of there?"

Knowing I was going to have to emerge sooner or later I heaved myself into my chair and looked up to see Sam's amused face. It only took half a second for him to register my appearance, and then he was around the desk before I'd even realized that he'd moved.

"Good heavens, what happened to you? Did someone do this to you?" He grabbed for the phone with one hand and put the other on my forehead where I'd rubbed it. "Agnes!" he barked into the phone. "Connect me to 911!"

"Stop that," I hissed, trying to get the phone out of his hands. "I'm perfectly all right. I just had a run-in with the printer."

He stared at me for a long moment, the phone dangling loosely from his hand. I could hear Agnes's voice squawking, "Sam? Where are you? What's happened?" and knew that any hopes I'd had of winning her over had just vanished. Well, as long as she didn't bar me from the building for sheer stupidity, I'd learn to live with her icy stares.

Sam lifted the receiver to his ear and said, "Never mind, Agnes. My mistake." Then he placed it carefully back on the desk, threw his head back, and laughed so hard that he made no noise whatsoever. "What is it," he gasped when he'd gotten himself under a semblance of control again, "that makes insanely funny things happen to you? Have you always been like this?"

I tried to glare at him but the situation _was_ pretty funny, and I was having a hard time keeping a straight face – a fact that he knew, because he grinned hugely at me. "I think it's you," I told him, half-serious. "I never got into trouble like this at home. I'm actually pretty boring, to tell you the truth."

His head tilting slightly, he regarded me for a minute before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Katie," he told me, "but I'm having a hard time believing that."

"What in the world happened here?"

I dropped that stupid box on the table and tried to look as innocent as possible. "Hi, Hannah," Sam said, moving to sit on the floor next to me. His knees must have been killing him. "Katie and I were just discussing the amount of trouble a person can get into while at work."

Her gaze moved from the ink cartridge to me and she covered her mouth with her hand. "You'd better change before Dad gets here," she said when her facial muscles weren't twitching so hard. "Do you have any spare clothes?"

I glanced down at my blouse and winced. It was ruined for sure. There was no way I could present myself to Mr. Selman in this state – especially not on my first day. "No," I confessed, starting to panic. "This is all I've got. Should I go home and change?"

Shaking her head, Hannah looked behind her. "No, Dad's on his way in. You'd better give her a company shirt, Sam. Quickly, I just heard the door slide open." She walked briskly back the way she had come, calling, "Sir, I have some numbers I need you to look at before you do anything else this morning."

Sam grabbed my hand and threw the cartridge in the trash. "Give us five minutes," he told his sister. "Come with me, Katie. I'll help you get cleaned up."

I followed him through Mr. Selman's office and into his bathroom. I was trying to picture exactly how he was going to do the helping when he turned to me with a funny smile on his face. "We'd better get your face washed before we do anything else," he said, wetting a washcloth in the sink and handing it to me.

I looked in the mirror and quickly closed my eyes. I looked like a circus clown had started working on my forehead and then forgotten to do the rest. Scrubbing hard at the spot, I watched Sam in the mirror. His eyes were following my movements, his expression a mixture between amusement and something I couldn't quite place.

I shot surreptitious glances at him until I turned around for a final inspection. "Is that better?"

I wasn't all that surprised when he shook his head, especially since I'd been paying more attention to him than to my forehead. He stepped forward before I could resume scouring my skin and took the cloth from my hand. "Here, let me," he said in a low voice. "You're going to ruin your face."

I stood there, my eyes wide, as he cupped my chin in his free hand and rubbed the stain gently for what seemed like an eternity. Then he threw the washcloth in a bin in the corner and surveyed me, swallowing hard and inspecting his handiwork. "Now you're all back to normal," he said, his eyes lingering on my face. "You'd make a cute clown, but I think I prefer you in your natural state. Shall we get going?"

I was having a hard time thinking clearly. Had he done it on purpose? And was he suddenly a mind reader? Surely he had to know it was mean to do that to a girl. I wasn't made of stone, after all. I scowled at my reflection after he brushed past me. I was going to have to try to behave in a strictly professional way from now on. No more catastrophes, and definitely no more alone time with Sam. It wasn't good for my nerves. Oh, for pete's sake. Now _I_ was sounding like Mrs. Bennet.

Fortunately I kept all my internal thoughts internal for a change and Sam started counting under his breath. I watched in amazement as he straightened and then stepped hard on one of the tiles between the shower and the toilet. A section of the wall slid noiselessly aside, and I yanked on the back of his shirt after we'd emerged into another hallway. "Why does Mr. Selman have a secret door to his bathroom?"

He shook his head and tugged me forward. "My dad bought this building from a huge Star Trek geek," he explained. "The guy's wife refused to let him trekify her house, so when he built this place he didn't hold back. Dad thinks the sliding door in the bathroom is brilliant; it lets him sneak out of boring meetings, and none of his business cronies have figured out yet how he gets around so quickly."

"Oh," was all I could think of to say.

Sam stopped in front of his broom-closet office and ushered me inside. "I'm sorry this isn't much," he said apologetically. "I keep a few extra shirts in here in case I ever need to change in the middle of a party." He shut the door behind us and started rummaging through a stack of shirts hanging on the back of the door. So much for no more alone time with the man; we were stuffed inside that little closet so close that I could hear him breathe. I scooted to the other side of the desk where he wouldn't stumble into me if he moved too quickly. He frowned and looked me over slowly, then grinned. "I'm afraid I don't have any that will fit you very well. You're a lot shorter than I am."

His gaze lingered on my legs, and I squeezed them together. No bristles. I was going to have to start shaving every day, at least until it got too cold to go around with naked legs. I was starting to see how a girl could get used to all those Regency dresses. They tended to cover up unsightly leg hairs – and show off what you had upstairs at the same time. Maybe I could start a fashion statement.

"Thanks, Sam," I said quietly. "I don't know why you're being so nice to me. I may have just ruined the rug under my desk."

His hands stilled and he slowly turned to me. "Why wouldn't I do this for you?" he asked. "You didn't pour red ink all over on purpose, did you?"

"Well, no, but – "

"But nothing. Here, try this one. It's the smallest I've got." He thrust a shirt into my hands and opened the door. "I'll be outside when you're finished," he told me. Then he grinned. "Maybe I'm being nice to you so you'll give me your real phone number instead of a fake one this time." Then he closed the door, leaving me standing in the middle of his office to wonder what in the world he was talking about.

My mind was racing as I unbuttoned my ruined blouse. What did he mean, I'd give him the right number this time? I'd already given it to him. I crammed the company shirt over my head and managed to find the arm holes in the yards of fabric that seemed to be swimming around my head. Sam wasn't _that_ tall, was he? At least it wasn't cut terribly wide.

He was leaning against the wall opposite his office when I opened the door a few minutes later, breathless from trying to shove the too-large shirt into my waistband. I was pretty sure I had a huge material lump on my derriere, but it was too late now; if I took much longer Mr. Selman'd catch me for sure. Sam straightened when he spotted me, and said, his face remaining very bland, "You look lovely. Much better than that homicide-victim thing you were going for before."

"I'd tell you to shut up, but since this is the second time you've saved my skin it'd be rude. What did you mean before, about my phone number? I wrote it down for you. I remember."

Sam lifted an eyebrow and led me toward Mr. Selman's office, going the long way around this time. I guessed he didn't want to get caught with me in the boss's bathroom. "I tried that number all week," he told me, a little exasperated. "Every time I called I got some little old lady. I was starting to think that you were a figment of my imagination until I went to Dad's for dinner last night and he couldn't stop talking about you."

I wasn't sure which was more surprising, the fact that Mr. Selman couldn't stop talking about me or that Sam had tried to call me back. More than once. "What number did I give you?"

He rattled off a number that sounded familiar, but was certainly not the one connected to the Butterworth's house. I shook my head, trying to think of why I would have given that to him. Then I started to laugh. "I can't believe it," I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. "I gave you my Uncle Bob's number by mistake. You must have spoken with my aunt. Didn't she give you the right one?"

He face scrunched up, and he placed his hand on the small of my back to get me moving again. "No, she wouldn't. She told me you were obviously avoiding a stalker since I'd called so many times." He took a sidelong look at me. "I did wonder when the area code was different, but I figured you had a cell phone. Can I infer from your tone that you weren't trying to avoid me after all?"

"Absolutely not." Could I be any more obvious? Why wouldn't my mouth say reasonable things in his presence? "I mean, I'd been working for my uncle until last week, and half his friends would call when he was at home so I'd have to remind them to call there, and then they never could remember so I'd have to tell them again, and – "

Sam laughed, his fingers flexing on my back. "I believe you," he said, smiling down at me. "You'd better sit down; Dad's on his way. Are you okay? You seem a little flushed."

It must have been the rapid pace we'd set on our way back to my desk. At least, that was the explanation I was sticking to. I sank gratefully into my chair and tried to look efficient. "Thanks again for the shirt," I told him. "I'll get it back to you tomorrow."

"Keep it as long as you want. I like the idea of you having it." His phone beeped and he scanned his message before shaking his head. "I need to get going. Don't leave before I come by this afternoon."

Wild horses couldn't drag me into my car. "Don't worry," I said. "I won't."

***

Mr. Selman arrived shortly after his son had left, with Hannah hard on his heels. "Miss Embury!" he boomed in my direction. "Good to see you. Splendid clothing choice. Hannah has some forms for you to fill out." He grabbed a handful of cookies that I'd unwrapped on my desk. "I'll see you when you're finished." He disappeared into his office, leaving me to stare at his closed door.

Hannah pulled up a chair and sat across from me. "This was a brilliant idea," she said, nodding toward the cookies. "He can't resist sweets, and he knows it. More often than not he'll think of a reason to visit the kitchens so he can taste what the chefs have on the menu for the day. May I?"

When I nodded my assent she chewed one thoughtfully. "On second thought," she said, her mouth still full of chocolate chip cookie, "this may have been a disastrous idea. He just might want you to bring them in every day. What's _in_ these things?"

Mr. Selman's door flew open and he stood in the doorway, a half-eaten cookie in his mouth. "Yes, Miss Embury, what's in these? They're simply divine." He reached out and grabbed another handful before I could say a word. Then he vanished into his office again.

Hannah scribbled something on a piece of paper and shoved it toward me. _You have to be careful what you say around here, _it read_. The entire place is wired. That's how the last p.a. got fired – she was complaining about the boss while talking to her boyfriend on the phone._

I nodded dumbly, understanding now how he'd known on the day of my interview that I didn't own a cell phone. "Shall we get to work, then?" I asked in as cheerful a voice as I could muster.

Hannah shot me a sympathetic look and mouthed, "You'll do great," before I got to filling out forms.

The rest of the morning passed by in a blur, broken by fifteen minutes for lunch which was brought to me by someone who evidently worked in the kitchens. "Thanks," I told him, glad for a break. The man, whose name was Andre, according to his apron, just winked at me and scurried away.

I'd just stuffed a turkey sandwich into my mouth when my phone made a funny noise and 'new message' flashed on the screen. Remembering what Officer Fredericks (or Fred, as I was to call him when he wasn't working) had taught me, I pushed a few buttons and read my very first text.

_Hey, this is Sam. Are you surviving in the lion's den?_

I could feel myself grinning foolishly, and after ten minutes of painstaking button pushing I managed a response.

_So far. How did you get my number? I don't even know what it is._

His answer came back almost immediately. _Hannah gave it to me. Did you make these cookies? Hannah swiped me one and I think I'm in heaven._

Well, huh. The old proverb was true after all. One bite of chocolate chip goodness and the Selman men were eating out of my hands. Literally.

_I'm glad you liked it. I'd offer you another one but your dad had them all eaten by ten._

_Lucky bum,_ he wrote back. _Hang in there. I'll be by around six._

By the time Sam came by that evening I wasn't quite as buoyant as I'd been at lunchtime. Mr. Selman and I had gone over his contact lists and he'd spent quite a bit of time explaining which of them were to be put through to him -- and why. Then we'd discussed his schedule, and I was a little dismayed to find that, most of the time, I'd be expected to attend his functions with him, starting with a golf outing the next day. What did he need a personal assistant for on the golf course? Couldn't he tally up his own score? All it took was a little simple arithmetic. Surely he had to know basic addition to build a successful business. Then again, he might have gone to school in Kentucky, which would explain a lot.

Mr. Selman had left already, and I had my head in my hand, pretending to study Mr. Selman's long list of contact dos and don'ts while running an inventory of my closet for golf clothes when Sam came by. "I'm glad to see you haven't tried to kill any more office supplies," he said, grinning at me as he sat in the chair Hannah had used that morning. "I'm glad to see that you've reformed your violent ways."

"Very funny," I muttered, leaning back in my chair and rolling my shoulders. He watched as I pulled my hair out of its knot on the back of my head and rubbed where I'd pulled it too tight. His fingers were twitching when I glanced back at him, and he seemed frozen to his seat.

"What have you been up to all day?" I asked, slumping back in my chair. Sam stared at me a second longer before jerking his attention away from my hair and to my eyes. "What? Oh, I went over the week's schedule with the managers and made sure we'd be ready for the Delanco party this Friday. It's a big one," he added when he saw my blank stare.

"Oh." Why couldn't I think of anything intelligent to say? Was I destined to make a fool of myself in front of him? Come on, self, I told myself sternly. Say something witty enough to make Elizabeth proud!

"I can't golf," I blurted.

He raised his eyebrows at me (both of them, thank goodness) and one side of his mouth turned up. "Who said you did?"

I shook my head, trying to get my brain to jump start itself. "No one, but I have to go on a golf outing tomorrow and Mr. Selman didn't tell me what I was supposed to do."

Sam seemed to find this very amusing. "Have you ever tried to golf?"

Come on, the man had seen me when I'd been tied up by a dog and shot by an ink cartridge. "No," I said a little defiantly. "I just can't see what the point is. I mean, you're hitting a little ball with a stick and expecting it to go into a hole only slightly larger than said ball miles away. You tell me why this makes sense."

Sam leaned his head back and laughed. "When you put it like that, it does sound a little silly," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "And no, you won't be expected to play. You're there to take his phone calls and make sure he has enough to drink. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

I closed my eyes and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. If my golf score was going to reflect my job performance I might as well start scanning the want ads right now. "I'm very glad to hear that. But what does one wear to a golf outing? I've never been on one before." I looked at Sam, hoping for some sort of inspired guidance. All I got was a strange look.

"You've looked great in everything I've seen you in so far," he said, gazing up at the ceiling. "So I'm sure whatever you have will be fine."

That was precisely the problem. I only had shorts and skirts, nothing in between. Well, it would just have to do. I started putting things away, and Sam gazed at my empty cookie plate sadly.

"I can't believe I only got one of those," he said mournfully. "I'll have to be faster on the uptake next time. You're bringing them in again, aren't you?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I told Mr. Selman I'd make cookies for him every Monday."

Sam whipped out his cell phone and typed something in.

"What are you doing?" I asked, only paying half attention. I was ready to get out of there.

"Putting it on my calendar. Hey, can I get your home number? The right one this time." He looked up at me expectantly, his fingers poised over the keypad on his phone.

I couldn't help laughing as I repeated to him, very slowly, the number at Bea's house. "I promise that's the right one," I said, trying to look serious. "And you already know the one for my cell."

Sam typed it in and flipped his phone closed. I put Mr. Selman's calendar away and, closing the drawer, got to my feet. I couldn't believe it had only been nine hours since I'd arrived. It felt more like nineteen.

Sam fell into step beside me on the way out. He was quiet until we passed Agnes's empty desk and he'd held the door open for me. "Hey, do you want to go out tonight? With me and Hannah, I mean. We could grab something for dinner, get to know each other a little better."

I'd just opened my mouth to tell him that of course I wanted to go to dinner with him when my cell phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Oliver, wanting to know how long I'd be. Crap. In all the excitement of ink and cookies and Sam I'd managed to forget my 'date' with Josh and the Obsessions.

"I can't," I said miserably. "I already told my brother I'd meet him and a few of his friends for dinner right after work. I'm sorry." Was it really a lie to refer to Josh and Jessica as Oliver's friends and not mine? I'd already decided Jessica and I weren't meant to be buddies, and it was fairly obvious that her brother fell into the same category.

A flash of disappointment crossed Sam's face. "That's all right. Maybe another time?"

"Yes, definitely." My words tumbled out so close on the heels of Sam's that he smiled involuntarily.

"Okay, then we'll do it at the end of the week. Will I see you tomorrow at work?"

"Unless I get clobbered in the head with a golf ball."

Sam winced. "Maybe I'd better wait around the office until you get back. I've already seen what kind of damage you can do without really trying."

He leaned on the car door and watched as I buckled myself in. "I think I'll do that," he said, nodding his head. "And I'll check in with you periodically to keep your mind off of getting into trouble." He grinned down at me and shut the door, and I promptly opened the window. "It can't hurt to try."

I grinned at him. "Are you sure you're up for the challenge?" Come on, I couldn't help it. No one could tell me Elizabeth didn't enjoy a little flirtation; just look at what she'd done to poor Mr. Darcy the whole time she was at Netherfield. She probably couldn't help herself.

"Oh, Miss Embury, I'm up for anything you throw my way." Then he smiled at me one last time, ruffled my hair through the window, and walked away with his hands in his pockets, whistling as he went.

Since he liked challenges so much, maybe I should send him to dinner with Josh in my place.

_Author's note_: Well, Sam's back as promised! I hope he wasn't a complete disappointment. Let me know what you think!

Many thanks to Linnea for catching all my mistakes, small and large, and to CJ, who still thinks it's fun to see his research appear in the story. It's all for you, bro!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The phone rang as Sam disappeared back into the building. "Hello?" I said without taking my eyes away from where he'd vanished.

"Where are you? Aren't you finished with work yet?" Oliver's voice was tired.

"In the parking lot at work. Where are you?"

"I'm at Circle Centre." .

I was proud that I actually knew where that was – and how to get there. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I said, trying to sound cheerful and upbeat. "Meet me in the Arts Garden."

After chastising my mom for her non-green paper stance I thought it would make a good statement to walk. I mean, it wasn't like it was all that far, right? But late summer in Indiana is still pretty hot (and humid) and this day was no different. By the time I was halfway there my face was streaked with sweat, and I was beginning to think that Peter's Perfect Catering should start investing in shirts made of a more breathable fabric. How did all those caterers survive in these things, anyway? Especially at all those outdoor summer parties.

Oliver was sitting on a bench in the garden when I got there. I'd never been inside, and it was pretty cool to stand above the street in a structure made of metal beams and glass. I hoped no one could see up my skirt. At least I was wearing underwear, something I wasn't sure could be said of Jessica. On a regular basis, at least.

Oliver turned his head when I sat next to him. "I'm never going to survive," he moaned, banging his head back against the glass wall. "Do you have any idea how much time they expect us to spend doing projects? I don't think I'll have time to sleep."

"It can't be that bad, can it?"

"It's even worse. After the first professor gave us his list of demands my brain went into shock."

Well, maybe his days with Jessica would be over before I knew it. Between my job and Oliver's schooling, we just wouldn't have any time for the Haskins siblings. I felt better already.

"At least you won't have any distractions," I told him cheerfully.

His eyes closed, Oliver grimaced. "That's the whole problem. How am I supposed to work on my MBA and date Jessica at the same time? She might get angry if I don't spend much time with her."

Whoa, hold on there a minute. Since when was Jessica a foregone conclusion? "You don't have to go out with anyone," I told him, willing my voice not to squeak. "You can always do the dating thing after you're finished. It makes more sense, really."

"That's easy for you to say," he retorted. "You already have Josh. And you have time for him on the weekends."

Now _that_ was going a little too far. "I don't _have_ Josh," I told him, starting to get annoyed. "In spite of what you may think I only agreed to come tonight so you could ogle your lady-love, not because I had any great desire to listen to him yak about cars again. And he will," I added when he started to argue. "I'll make you a bet. If I'm wrong and he doesn't even bring up the subject I'll wash the dishes for a week. If I'm right, you're the one stuck in the kitchen with his arms up to the elbow in dirty water."

"It's a deal," he said, and stuck out his hand for me to shake.

Sucker. Oliver never could pass up a good bet, especially one that meant he got out of doing something distasteful.

"Well, if you don't have Josh, who do you have?" he asked after several minutes of silence. "It's not like you've been here long enough to meet anyone."

He obviously got his marriage sensors from our father. Otherwise he'd have assumed, as my mom had, that I'd already organized the hordes of men who were lined up outside my front door with an engagement ring and a stars in their eyes. "For your information, I have," I said with a smug look. "I met a guy my second day here. He tried to call all last week, but I gave him Bob's home number by mistake."

Oliver's eyes flew open and he stared at me in horror. "Do you mean to tell me that you gave a perfect stranger your home phone number?"

Why was he looking at me like that? "He wasn't a perfect stranger," I said a little defensively. "He helped me out with Mr. P on the Monon Trail. It was a very good thing that he did, too, or I might have been in some serious trouble."

Oliver ignored the part about Mr. P. "What would you have done if he'd been a stalker?" he demanded. "He could have found out where you were living and killed you in your sleep, and no one would have had any clue that it was your own dumb fault. I trust you haven't seen him since then."

I looked him straight in the eye. "This is his shirt."

Oliver glanced down at my company shirt and sat up. He leaned over, buried his face in his hands, and groaned. "How could you get into so much trouble in such a short amount of time?" he asked. "I promised mom and dad I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Do I dare ask why you're wearing this guy's shirt? You _were_ home all last night, right?"

What was he talking about? He knew exactly where – oh, my gosh. "Oliver!" I gasped. How could he believe such a thing? "You aren't thinking – "

His head remained in his hands. "That's the problem," was his muffled reply. "I'm the only one thinking here. Please, _please_ tell me there's an innocent reason why you're not wearing your own clothes."

Well, I wasn't all that sure I wanted to share all the gory details of my printer assassination with my brother, so I just shrugged and said in as nonchalant a way as I could manage, "I had a bit of a problem at work today, and Sam was kind enough to loan me one of his spare shirts. It was really very kind of him. And anyway, it's none of your business what I do or don't do. I don't follow you around asking what you've been up to after seeing Jessica."

He just shook his head. "That's not the same thing. I'm responsible for you."

I was so mad I hopped to my feet and planted my hands on my hips. "Since when?" I demanded. "The last time I checked I was old enough to take care of myself. I appreciate your brotherly concern, but keep it to yourself unless I ask for it."

Oliver stared at me, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then he started to chuckle. "I can't believe it," he said, resting back against the wall. "My little sister is finally growing up. Mom will be _so_ thrilled." He pretended to blink back a tear.

"Stop it." I smiled in spite of myself and sat back next to him. "Are you going to keep your nose out of my business?"

"Is this guy fairly normal?"

"He's better than Josh, if that's what your standard of 'normal' is."

He laughed at that and tugged on the sleeve of my shirt. "Then he can't be that bad. I may have to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Are ya'll talkin' about me?"

Sooner or later Jessica was going to forget to use 'the accent' around my brother. Somehow I doubted he'd say anything. Jessica flounced into the Arts Garden wearing the tiniest excuse I'd ever seen for a shirt. Josh was right behind her, looking appropriately humble.

She leaned over to air-kiss me on the cheek (a habit I was starting to find highly annoying, as her hair whacked me in the head every time she did this. After she'd told me it'd been washed in mud I was always slightly concerned about its degree of cleanliness) and smiled brilliantly at Oliver. "I hope we haven't kept you waiting too long."

He jumped to his feet and looked at her hopefully. She giggled and leaned in to plant one on his cheek, too, and she took way longer than was necessary. I rolled my eyes and mumbled a hello to Josh.

He sidled up next to me and cleared his throat. "How was your day?" he asked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Several images of Sam's laughing face came to mind, and I smiled dreamily. "Wonderful," I said in a rather stupid-sounding voice. Oliver coughed and I jerked back to reality. "But very busy," I added, hoping no one but Oliver had noticed my momentary lapse. "Mr. Selman's going to keep me hopping."

We wandered into the mall's entrance. Josh must have decided that my day was more interesting than his because he kept up the conversation. "What kinds of things is he having you do?"

I looked at him strangely. Did he have a secret wish to work for a catering company? "Oh, I don't know," I said vaguely, wishing I'd had time to read the company's policy on information sharing. "The regular stuff, I guess. I'm going golfing tomorrow."

I could hear a snort of laughter from in front of us, and I scowled at Oliver's back. Fat lot he knew. Maybe I was really an undiscovered golf star. They could call me Tigress Embury. It had a certain ring to it.

Josh inched even closer. "You're going golfing with Peter Selman? Wow, that's pretty cool. Where are you going?"

Okay, I may not know the exact wording of the company's confidentiality agreement (was that one of the things Hannah had made me sign that morning?) but I knew enough to know that Josh didn't need that much information. "Somewhere up in Carmel, I think. I can't really remember."

Josh was quiet for a while. I was sure he was trying to think of all the golf courses on the north side. From the notes I'd taken in my meeting with Mr. Selman, there were quite a few. He'd never guess the right one. And if he did, I'd just plead the fifth.

I wasn't really paying attention to where we were going until Oliver and Jessica stopped in the food court. "What are we doing here?" I asked, stifling a yawn. It may have only been seven o'clock, but I was ready for bed. Provided the internet was hooked up at home, though – if I forgot to send my mom an email I'd risk another early-morning phone call. "Please tell me we aren't going shopping."

Josh looked horrified. "Are you kidding? I don't go shopping." (His wardrobe, which seemed to consist of jean shorts and too-tight t-shirts, attested to the truth of that statement. Maybe he let his sister pick out his clothes for him.) "No, I told you I'd take you out to dinner to apologize, and what better way than Johnny Rockets?"

_This_ was where he'd decided to take me? I didn't think of myself as a snob (whatever Oliver said to the contrary, and anyway, he was referring to Jane Austen) but really. It was hard to take a guy seriously when he said he was sorry for standing you up with his mouth stuffed full of chili burger. Still, it wouldn't take too long to get my food, eat, and then go home.

"Great," I said weakly. "Let's go."

An hour later I was still sitting in the same chair that I'd plunked myself into after collecting my dinner. I swirled the dregs of my chocolate shake around and around as Josh droned on and on about the differences between a 1964 Corvette Stingray and the one made in 1967. I caught Oliver's eye and lifted my dirty glass in his direction. He just scowled at me and went back to his discussion with Jessica. It was probably a good thing I couldn't hear what they were saying, because it seemed to involve a lot of giggling on Jessica's part. Giggling and hair tossing. I just might be sick.

Josh finally exhausted his discussion about which model year of his coveted car was better and stood up, stretching his hands in front of him until his knuckles popped. I winced. I hadn't heard anyone do that since high school, and the sound still made my teeth ache. "Let's get going," he said, looking up onto the next floor of the mall. "I can hear the engines from here!"

"We'll be up in a minute," Jessica called to his retreating back. Oliver never even moved his head.

"Listen, Josh, I think I'm going to go home. Thanks ever so much for dinner – "

Totally ignoring what I'd said, Josh grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the escalator. "Come along," he said. "I'll race you. I'll even go easy on you, since it's your first time."

_Come along_? I thought only grandmothers and people with British accents said things like that. Who did he think he was, Mary Poppins? I twisted my arm out of his grasp and rubbed my forehead. The action made me think of Sam and the gentle pressure of his fingers as he wiped at the stain that had been there earlier.

Josh took my momentary distraction as a sign that I'd changed my mind and pushed me off the escalator and into a huge arcade. "Isn't this great?" he yelled over the bleeping and shooting of the video games smashed into every corner of the room.

I tolerated arcades, but only for a little while. All the noise and blinking lights gave me a headache. "Great," I sighed, and followed him toward the back of the room, trying to think of a graceful way to make an exit without being totally rude.

Josh stopped in back of a row of racecars and motioned gallantly (well, I'm sure he thought it was gallant) toward one. "Here we go!" he said. I was surprised he didn't rub his hands together gleefully. Couldn't he do anything that wasn't related to a car? "I'll show you where the pedals are."

The temptation to tell him that I'd already played this game was only fleeting, and I settled back into the seat, completely ignoring him. I'd spent more hours than I cared to remember in a car very similar to this in high school; I mean, really. I lived in Indiana, the racing capitol of the world, with a brother only fifteen months older than me. Did he think I'd grown up under a rock?

Josh plunked himself down next to me and pulled a video game card that had seen a lot of use from his pocket. "You'd better get one of these," he said, revving the engine. Sighing, I got up and purchased one, making sure to put only a few dollars on it. This was turning out to be some apology, and I began to imagine the best way possible to get rid of him once and for all.

Once I got back into my car I was so busy concocting a 'dear John' letter in my head that I didn't really focus on the race, and I blinked when I heard a word not usually used in mixed come from Josh's direction. That was one good thing about Jane Austen. She never swore. At least, she didn't use the word that had just come out of Josh's mouth.

"How did you do that?" he demanded, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"Do what?" I didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

He glared at me accusingly. "It must have been beginner's luck," he muttered. "Just a fluke."

A guy standing behind me whispered a little too close to my ear, "You beat him. I don't think he liked that."

I looked up at the screen, and sure enough, my car was at the top of the list. Not my personal best time, but then, I hadn't really been paying attention. So when Josh banged his card into the machine again I felt it would only be fair to see how well I could do when I tried.

The second time around I beat him by several seconds, and by the third a small crowd had gathered around to watch. When, triumphant once again, I went to get up Josh protested. "Where are you going?" he asked, looking a little worried. Maybe he thought I'd get tired eventually and he'd finally have his chance to be at the top of the list.

"I'm out of money," I said none too apologetically.

Someone snatched my card from my hand and replaced it with another. "Try this one," a voice murmured in my ear.

I knew that voice. What was Sam doing here? But when I turned to look at my misguided savior it wasn't Sam at all. The guy slid into the car on my other side and I almost fell out of my own when I saw him. If he wasn't Mr. Darcy's brother I'd eat my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ for breakfast. There were a few differences – even in the dimly lit room I could tell that his eyes were the wrong color, and his hair wasn't curly – but he certainly came from Darcy stock.

"My name's David," he said with a wicked grin. "Mind if I join in?"

He was a Darcy impersonator, all right. But which one? The Darcy I'd been imagining since I was twelve, or the one that was named Sam? It was starting to get hard to differentiate between the two.

"Go right ahead," I told him, grinning back in spite of myself. "I'm Katie, by the way."

His gaze flicked to the logo on my chest and his eyebrows shot up. "So you're the famous personal assistant," he said, his eyes flashing. "It'll be a pleasure to beat you, Miss Embury." Then the engines revved, and we were off.

I had to hand it to Josh; he never once yelled, like so many of Oliver's friends had. In fact, he didn't say much of anything. Of course, Josh was older than Oliver's friends had been and was therefore supposed to be more mature, but still. He just sat in that little car, his face getting redder and redder, and kept prolonging the agony. I guess he thought my lucky streak would end sooner or later, and then he could start proving his manliness again.

By the time I was on the last of David's money all the other players were male, and there was a horde of girls standing behind me, chanting my name as I passed my opponents. They cheered wildly when I crossed the finish line, David's car behind by less than a car length. I grinned at him and accepted his outstretched hand. "I must say, that was not what I was expecting," he said with a rueful smile. "Congratulations. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Then he raised my hand to his lips and disappeared into the crowd.

That was David _Selman_? No wonder he'd known my last name. I'd just assumed it was yet another senator's daughter joke and forgot about it in the excitement of the game. I groaned and rubbed my forehead. It seemed like I'd been doing that a lot lately. I wasn't sure if I hoped he'd tell Sam about meeting me or not. Sam already had a weird perception of me as it was.

"Katie!" Josh's voice broke through the excited babble around me. "Where do you think you're going?"

I turned to him, my eyebrows raised in amusement. "Home," I said, trying not to laugh at the look on his face. "Don't tell me you want to race _again_."

His eyes narrowing, he moved toward me and I took an involuntary step backward. "How many times have you played this game?" he demanded, sounding angry. I'd been waiting for him to snap, and it seemed like it was finally happening.

I shrugged. "I haven't played in a long time," I told him. "But I used to beat Oliver and his buddies all the time when we were younger."

His jaw set, Josh made a funny noise that made me think he was a peacock in heat. "Why didn't you say – "

"You never asked," I said, cutting him off. "I may not know a lot about real cars, but I know how to drive these." I patted the back of my racecar affectionately. "It's not my fault you assumed otherwise." I turned on my heel and walked away, calling over my shoulder as I went. "I'll see you around, Josh. Tell my brother I went home."

Then, to whoops and cheers from the assembled crowd, I did just that.

***

I didn't start feeling guilty until I was halfway home. I knew better than to flaunt my racecar-video game talents in front of a guy who obviously thought very highly of himself. It wasn't a very nice thing to do, and I should apologize. Or something.

But somehow the idea of taking Josh down a notch or two was too delicious to pine over for very long, and by the time I'd opened the front door to find Mr. P standing at attention right behind it I had decided it had been a rather fun little adventure. With any luck, Josh would leave me alone without any further effort on my part to dissuade him. That's how it always worked in the movies, anyway.

Mr. P stared at me until I gave him a proper welcome, and he followed me down the hall, sitting patiently outside my bedroom door while I changed into my pajamas. Whatever else I said (or thought) about Mr. P, he was a perfect gentleman. When the mood struck him. I did feel a little sorry for him, though; he was used to having Bea at his beck and call all day, and now no one was home for him to boss around. Maybe I should get him a fish.

Remembering my promise to email my mother, I padded into the sunroom where Oliver had set up my computer. Poor guy, I thought fondly. Right now he's stuck at GameWorks with Jessica and Josh, getting one last night of fun in before he doesn't have time to even look at a pretty pair of legs.

There was a message waiting for me from Josie, and I opened it before I did anything else. She wrote about her day and the cute boys in her new classes, and I smiled when she rhapsodized about some guy who'd already started talking about the prom. Who does that, anyway? Prom wasn't for another, what? Seven months? Was he desperate? I was tempted to ask her that but knew her reaction would be less than thrilled.

She ended by telling me that her grades were, so far, perfect. _I know it's only the first day of school,_ she wrote, _but I have a feeling that I'll be in Aunt Bea's spare bedroom come October. Be sure to line up some hot guys for me, and maybe we can go on a double date! HA!_

If she only knew, I thought. It seemed I was destined to be surrounded by people who didn't know how truly desirable I really was. Just wait until she heard about Sam.

My fingers were poised over the keys when I stopped to think. Did I really want my mother to know all this? I was pretty sure Josie would keep mum about most of my business, but if she thought it was funny that I'd met a guy at work (and had given him the wrong number) she'd tell mom for sure. So instead I sent her a recap of my day (minus the embarrassing parts, of which there were several) and ended by telling her about my triumphant evening. She'd get a kick out of that for sure. Then I left my mother a much shorter message, turned off the computer, and went to bed.

For some reason I hadn't been too freaked about my upcoming golfing exhibition, but when I got up the next morning that all changed. I dug into my closet, frantically looking for something to wear that would make me look like I was supposed to be there without inferring that I knew what I was doing. Nothing.

The doorbell rang at half past eight and I scurried to answer it, dressed in a bathrobe with my hair curling down my back in the humidity. "I was hoping I'd find you still at home!" Junie exclaimed when I threw open the door. Then, taking a closer look at me, she said, "Is everything okay? You look a little frazzled."

"I have to be at work in forty five minutes," I moaned, "and I don't know what to wear."

Junie's spine straightened and she lugged her baby carrier, along with a pad of paper, into the foyer. "Well, I'm not always up on the latest fashions, but I can see what you have. Where's your bedroom?"

Twenty minutes later I was dressed in a skirt, a red blouse (Junie thought it was appropriate, given my activities the day before) and flat sandals that laced up my calves. "I really appreciate this, Junie," I said as she handed me the broad-brimmed hat she'd found in the basement. It even had a red ribbon around it. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Oh, you would have figured something out," she said comfortably. "You seem very resourceful. Funny, but resourceful. Now, before you go, can I ask you a huge favor? Fred ate all the cookies you brought over in about twenty-one seconds, and he's been pining for them ever since. Would you mind giving me your recipe?"

This wasn't the first time I'd gotten that request. "Sure," I told her, grabbing the pad of paper from her and scribbling down the instructions. "It makes a lot of cookies, so you might want to halve the recipe."

She laughed. "It can't make enough for Fred. Besides, I was going to show Addy how to make cookies."

I glanced at the baby, who was clearly too young to eat solids, much less make them. "No problem," I said as I headed for the door. Mr. P hovered in the background, hoping, no doubt, that someone would stay and play. "Good luck with that."

She laughed and rubbed her baby's bald head. "You can never start too young. Good luck on the golf course today!" Then she hugged me and left, leaving a smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo in her wake.

When I got to work that morning the yellow flowers had disappeared. Their replacements were red, and there was a little racecar tied to the vase.

_Author's note_: So now that all the Selmans/Tilneys have made an appearance, what do you think? Thanks to all of you who've read this far, and even more thanks to those of you who took the time to comment. I appreciate it!

Great big ol' hugs go to Linnea, of course (I'm starting to sound like Jessica – maybe I should stop writing while I'm ahead!) for catching all my inconsistencies, and to CJ, who reads every chapter I've written even though there aren't any car chases or bombs. Thanks, guys!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The golf outing wasn't nearly as scary as I'd imagined, and Mr. Selman even took me along in his fancy Ferrari. I was tempted to ask him to take a picture of me in the driver's seat so I could send it to Josh, but that seemed a little childish, especially after his trouncing the night before. Still, he _had_ asked about the car . . .

When we got to the golf course I discovered, to my relief, that all Mr. Selman expected me to do was sit in the golf cart and take the phone calls that Agnes forwarded to me while he chatted with his buddies, all of whom ignored me. I scheduled his appointments and made sympathetic noises when he hit a ball into a tree on the first hole (I couldn't figure out why they named the course Crooked Stick; the place was full of trees sticking out all over the place, but they were all as straight as everything else in Indiana) and offered him a drink when he stomped back toward the cart, already in a foul mood. He may have played a lot of golf, but he sure wasn't very good at it – even to my inexperienced eyes.

He took the beer can from my hand and stared impatiently in the direction of the parking lot, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. When he made no move to follow the others down the fairway I asked in a rather small voice, "Are we waiting for someone, sir?"

He grunted and took another swig out of his can. "My son. Has he called?"

I was about to check my phone for missed messages when my hands froze in mid-air. His son? I knew Sam wasn't coming, but that could only mean . . .

After waiting long enough for the rest of Mr. Selman's party to get ahead of us, and for his steering-wheel rhythm to accelerate to the point that I was beginning to worry about its safety, we heard another golf cart approach and stop beside us.

"Hey, Dad." David leaned out of his cart to see around me, and I stared stupidly at the phone that was now resting in my lap, thinking that it would be awfully handy to be a superhero about right then. After all, invisibility could be very practical in just about every scenario I could think of. "And Miss Embury, the racing legend." He smirked at me and bent down to kiss my cheek. "I hope you drive a golf cart at least half as well as you do race cars." Then he winked and sped off.

Mr. Selman didn't seem to notice my silence as we headed down the golf course.

When we stopped, David (was I supposed to call him Mr. Selman? Did he even work for the company?) hopped out of his cart and came to stand next to me, leaning casually against my seat as he watched his father take a practice swing. "I was very impressed with the way you handled that car last night," he murmured. My hat was big enough that he couldn't whisper directly in my ear, but he still managed to make my shoulder twitch. "I wonder how you'd do with a real, live model."

I averted my gaze, glad the hat was large enough to conceal my reddening cheeks. Was this guy trying to make a pass at me? Something like that had never happened to me before, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. "I didn't know you golfed, Mr. Selman," I said, trying to change the subject.

"Famously. And please, call me David. Mr. Selman is way too formal. Do you play? I could teach you a few swings if you like." His smile was pure honey.

I stared at him stupidly for a second, my mind strangely blank. It was like I was the proverbial deer transfixed by a set of oncoming headlights. "No, thanks," I told him, hoping I didn't sound rude and ungrateful. "I'm on the clock. And I'm no good at sports." I lifted the phone to prove the fact, and on cue it buzzed with an incoming message.

_Do you need to be rescued yet?_

I made a face. Did Sam think I was totally incompetent? I glanced over at David out of the corner of my eye. He'd evidently given up on his games with me, for the moment, at least, and was choosing a golf club.

_No_, I typed. _I'm doing just fine. Thanks, though._

His response came almost immediately. _Pity,_ he wrote. _I was hoping for an excuse to get out of the office early._

_I thought you could do whatever you wanted_, I pointed out, watching the Selmans chat with their guests. _Can't you just leave when you want?_

_Not when it comes to the boss. I'll text you later to see how you're holding up_.

I glanced up at Mr. Selman and frowned. He'd been nothing but polite to me, but maybe he was a different person around his family. It made me glad my last name didn't coincide with his.

I didn't hear from Sam again until the eleventh hole. I'd had some hopes that we'd only be doing nine, but Mr. Selman had a fairly good drive on the ninth so he'd decided we'd finish the course in an attempt to even out his score. It didn't seem to be working as well as he'd hoped.

_Heard you had an interesting evening last night_, Sam's message said. _Wish I could have been there._

David was gazing at me shrewdly when I glanced up at him, and I smiled weakly. He evidently hadn't kept his mouth shut, although if I were completely honest with myself I would have done the same thing. I just wished I knew exactly what he'd said.

_It wasn't nearly as exciting as I'm sure you've heard,_ I sent back, hoping he'd believe me. _Just a little friendly competition._

_Hm._ I could almost hear him laughing. _Sounds like your competitor didn't see it that way. I heard he stormed off in a huff after you left. Hope you didn't lose a friend last night._

Since I hardly considered Josh a friend, that didn't seem likely. _Stormed off, huh?_ I wrote cheerfully. _That doesn't surprise me. He isn't the sort that would take losing to a girl very well._

_Wish I'd been there to see._

I laughed to myself, but stopped cold when David slid into the cart beside me. "Interesting message?" he asked, trying to see the phone.

Shrugging, I stuck it back in my bag. Could I get in trouble for receiving personal messages while on official business? Maybe it didn't matter because Sam was the one sending them. "I guess. Can I get you anything? It's pretty hot out here."

Looking at me appraisingly, he smiled in a very Cheshire-cat sort of way. "It's even hotter in here with you," he said, sliding toward me. "But I think I can handle the heat. Maybe we should ditch them – " he jerked his head in our companions' direction – "and go somewhere cooler. I've always been rather fond of Dad's personal assistants. They tend to be so accommodating."

"That was nice of them," I said in a voice that sounded more like Josie's than my own. "But I really shouldn't. I'd hate to get into trouble so soon."

"Don't worry about my father," he breathed, moving even closer. "I know how to handle him."

All right, this guy was giving me the creeps. I sidled away from him so quickly that I slid right out of the cart and onto the dirt. "That's very kind of you," I said as haughtily as possible with my rump on the ground. David was leering down at me, and I realized with a jolt that he could see right down my blouse. "Isn't it your turn yet?" I asked pointedly, placing a casual hand on my neck.

"Four!"

I looked up just in time to spy a small white object wafting through the sky toward me. It seemed to be stuck in slow motion, and I wondered idly what the number four had to do with it. Perhaps there was more to golf than simply getting a ball in a hole, as there seemed to be judging involved.

The next thing I knew the ball was lying innocently on the ground next to my feet, and there was a very painful lump forming on my head.

"Miss Embury!" David materialized by my side. "Are you hurt? Shall I take you back to the clubhouse?"

I rubbed my head through my hat and winced. It hurt, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. "I think I'm okay," I said. "What happened?"

He looked at me incredulously. "You got whacked by a ball. Didn't you hear Dad yell 'Fore'?"

He helped me up and back into the cart, and I tried to concentrate. It was hard to do with a knot on my head. "How did it hit me? Your dad was facing the other way. And I thought he was counting."

David shook his head. "I think I'd better get you somewhere quiet. We need to be alone."

That was the last thing I needed. "Really, I'm fine. Go back to your game."

"I never stopped playing."

The glint in his eyes made my stomach tighten. "I think I'd rather play a different one, then."

"David! Come here for a second. Was I on three strokes or four?"

"Four, sir, as you said just a moment ago."

"Thank you, Miss Embury. David, you're up."

I've never been so grateful to a person in my life. David heaved a tremendous sigh that I was sure he thought was very heartfelt and clambered over my legs to get out of the cart – an action that was completely unnecessary, since there was no need for him to get in just to hop back out again. I found myself wishing that he'd fall into a water hazard and not come back.

Mr. Selman marched over to me, his club clenched tightly in his fist. "Take care of that," he snapped, almost throwing it in my lap. He didn't notice when I jerked away in fear. I mean, I'd already been whacked on the head once. "It needs to be cleaned." He stomped back to his buddies, a cheerful grin plastered on his face.

I picked it up gingerly with two fingers. The golf club had dirt and grass sticking out of it, and it appeared as though Mr. Selman had single-handedly tried to clean out the brush with his club, and I couldn't help wishing he'd lost it in the brush before he'd had a chance to swing at that stupid ball.

The phone buzzed again, and I was so unnerved by David – and my new fear of all things golf -- that I almost dropped the phone onto the ground. "Hello?" Crap, that hadn't been professional at all.

"Are you almost done there?" Sam asked, sounding hopeful. "Hannah's been asking about you."

That was really sweet of her. "We have one hole to go," I told him, tucking the phone under my chin and talking as quietly as I could after making sure no one was near enough to hear me. "Do you know how to clean a golf club?"

Sam chuckled. "How bad is it?"

I glanced down at the thing. "Well, it looks like Mr. P used it to dig one of his holes in the backyard."

"Ouch. You'll have to get a tee from the bag and scrape it off."

Golfing was definitely not my sport. I bet Mr. Darcy never golfed; he seemed more like a baseball guy to me. Those tight pants, and those dark eyes peering at me from underneath a baseball cap . . . I was growing positively faint.

"Why couldn't your dad have taken up baseball?" I asked wistfully, images of hot, sweaty men with 'Darcy' embroidered across their shirts running through my mind. "It would be so much easier."

There was a snort on the other end of the phone. "You a baseball fan? You should come to one of my games next year."

And I thought I was faint before. "You play baseball?" Did all those Darcys in my imagination suddenly have Sam's wry expression? "That's . . . amazing."

"How's that club coming along?"

Club? What club? My Darcy team evaporated and I was left with a bunch of polo-clad older men and a dirty golf club. "Oh, um . . . this is so nasty," I mumbled, forgetting trying to clear my head. "How in the world am I ever supposed to – " I was in the middle of digging the dirt off the thing when the golf tee I was using skidded across the head of the club and struck me squarely in the chest, leaving a beautiful glob of mud on my white blouse. This was the second one I'd ruined in two days' time.

"Katie? Are you okay?"

"Fine," I muttered, wiping at the spot ineffectively. If I didn't like Sam so much I'd be tempted to run as far away from him as I could. Strange things tended to happen to me when I was talking to him. Or looking at him. Or thinking about him. Come to think of it, it'd been Mr. Selman who'd tried to kill me with a golf ball, so maybe it was the whole family. Man, I was doomed.

"By the way," I said as I resumed my work, "Are any Selman men any good at this sport?"

"Not in the least. Why? Has something gone wrong?"

"Just an incident involving a golf ball and my head."

Sam made choking sounds. "Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the emergency room?"

I could just see Josie's gleeful expression now. "No, it's all right. David already offered. He's very . . . " It took me a second to think of an adjective that would be both honest and inoffensive at the same time, and the combination was proving to be trickier than I thought. I finally settled on "friendly."

"David's there?" Sam's voice was unexpectedly sharp. "What's he doing?"

I sat back and watched for a second before I answered. "He's trying to show off."

Sam made a snort of disgust. "Put him on the line when he's done. I need to speak with him."

I wasn't all that happy to talk to David, but when he came back a second later, resuming his position against the side of the cart again – there was going to be a hip-shaped dent there pretty soon -- I handed him my phone. "Your brother wants to talk to you," I said.

David gave me a dirty look and straightened up. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" I heard him snap as he walked away. "I'm a little busy right now."

David was irritated when he handed me back my phone a few minutes later. "If he calls again tell him I'm not available," he said shortly before striding away again. Since he hadn't hit his ball very far it didn't take him very long to reach it, but he swiped at a few bushes viciously with his golf club as he went. I thought it was more for effect than anything else. Sam must have told him some very bad news. Either that or he'd royally ticked him off.

Everyone was quiet the rest of the afternoon; Mr. Selman because he'd played a really lousy game of golf (there'd be no writing _that_ score on his headstone), David because his brother had offended him, and me because . . . well, I guess I was quiet because everyone else was. And my head hurt. It was a relief when Mr. Selman pulled into the parking lot and we could escape each other's company.

Sam appeared as soon as Mr. Selman's door had clicked shut. I didn't notice him at first, as I was trying to untie the knot keeping that huge hat on my head, but when I looked up, ready to let the stupid thing just stay there, he was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"What?" I said, a little crossly. My head was realy starting to throb. I was going to make every effort to avoid another golf outing, even if that meant I'd have to start eating under-cooked chicken so I could get salmonella poisoning.

He smiled slightly at that and moved to sit in the chair on the other side of my desk. I was starting to feel like a guidance counselor – one sadly in need of a little guidance herself. "You look beat," he observed. "How's your head? Your eyes aren't dilated, so I guess you don't have a concussion."

I yanked harder, wondering if he'd been an EMT in an earlier life. "Probably not."

"What happened to your top? It looks like you were attacked by a – " He stopped talking and he carefully looked up at the ceiling, not saying another word.

Well, no girl likes to be told she looks tired, even if it's the truth, and I wasn't going to give him the opportunity to laugh at me to my face, so I glowered at him and yanked harder on the ribbon. It finally came loose, and I threw it on the floor next to my desk in annoyance. "Your father's golfing game – "

Sam placed a warning finger to his lips, and I froze, remembering what Hannah had told me about the place being wired. " -- is very interesting to watch," I finished lamely.

He chuckled and gazed at me sympathetically. "I know exactly what you mean." He stopped talking for a minute, allowing me to put my things away, and when he went on his gaze was fixed on a spot somewhere above my right shoulder. "What did you think of David?"

I snorted in a way that would make Lydia proud. "I'm sure he finds himself very charming," I said. "No doubt lots of girls would think themselves very lucky to have his attentions directed their way."

"What about you? Do you find yourself in that category?"

Was he kidding? "Are you kidding? He's not my type."

San smiled slightly. "And what _is_ your type?"

I couldn't really tell him that anyone who looked like Mr. Darcy – and acted like him, at least after he'd met Elizabeth at Pemberley – was my type without looking like a complete fool, so I just shrugged and flipped on the computer. "Someone a little more natural, I guess. David's too . . . smooth for me."

I'd said the last few words while bending over to inspect the red stain on the carpet (that had vanished; I owed someone for that) so I couldn't see Sam's face. When I looked up, though, his smile had morphed into a grin. "I'm very glad to hear that," he said relaxing back into the chair. "Most girls fall over their own feet when he turns the charm in their direction. Which I imagine he was doing with you today."

"He was." For some reason I thought about Jessica.

***

By Friday morning I'd settled into a sort of routine. I'd wake up to the sound of the door slamming behind Oliver on his way to school. Then I'd feed Mr. P, who always looked at me forlornly as I got ready for work. Once I got past Agnes (who hadn't warmed to me in the slightest) I'd spend the day scurrying around like a crazy person, trying to learn the ins and outs of a catering business. It was, altogether, exhausting.

I didn't see a whole lot of Sam after the golf outing, but he came by that morning just after Mr. Selman had tossed a boatload of dirty white shirts on the floor next to my desk and asked – well, ordered is perhaps a more accurate description – me to get them cleaned by the end of the day. I was staring at them morosely when I heard someone clear his throat.

"Hey," I said rather glumly, resting my chin in my hand.

Sam leaned against the wall and looked at me in amusement. "Has your dog died?"

My eyes flew to his in surprise. I could have sworn he was laughing at me. "No. At least, he was fine when I left the house this morning." Since when was I talking about Mr. P like he was _my_ dog? Maybe I needed to have my head examined. I sighed and turned my attention back to the laundry. "I was just thinking."

Sam folded his arms across his chest and squinted at me. "That must have been a very depressing thought, then, because I've never seen you look so defeated."

"It's the shirts." I got up and pushed them around with my toe. "I guess I never thought I'd be going to the dry cleaners' for another man again."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Another man? Have you been – " He stopped talking abruptly, a strange look on his face.

I picked them up and dumped them on my chair. "I used to take my Uncle Bob's shirts to the cleaners all the time," I explained, wondering why he suddenly looked so relieved. "I swore I'd never do that again. Laundry is a very personal thing. You should do it yourself."

Laughing outright, Sam pulled a card out of his pocket. "Call this number," he told me, his eyes still twinkling. "They do all of our dry cleaning, and they pick up. Now, what are you doing the rest of the day?"

I glanced at Mr. Selman's appointment book and shrugged. "It's a little slow today, actually," I admitted. "At least, until the party starts tonight."

"Dad?" Sam said, no louder than he had before. I would have been worried that Mr. Selman had overheard my laundering comments, but I _really_ didn't want to take care of his dirty clothes. "I'm taking Katie to help with the Delanco set-up. She should probably learn the basics in case she's ever needed for a room flip."

"Fine." Mr. Selman's voice came from somewhere near the ceiling, and I looked up in surprise, trying to figure out where the speakers were. I couldn't see anything.

"Don't bother," Sam muttered. "No one knows, not even Dad."

He waited for me to call the cleaners and then led me toward the largest of the reception rooms. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, gazing at all the people bustling around purposefully. "I don't think I've ever been to a party this big."

Sam made a funny noise in his throat. "This isn't the largest that we've done," he said, "but it's one of the more important. The Delancos are pretty influential in the community, and they've invited some people that my father finds particularly interesting."

I followed him to a side table piled high with black and white linen napkins. "Like who?"

Sam twitched his shoulders. "Just some people from the Speedway. Here, let me show you what to do."

By the time I'd finished with my small stack of napkins (which looked like something I'd wadded up and then sat on) Sam was well into his fifth. "I gather from the black and white that this is a racing party," I said.

Sam glanced over at me, a smirk on his face. "Funny, isn't it? Maybe we should invest in that Indy 500 game you're so good at and you can show all our clients that we hire well-rounded people. I'm sure they'd be very impressed."

I threw a napkin at him and it landed on his shoulder. "Very funny. Is that why Mr. Selman is so interested in this party? I heard he wanted to do the race's catering."

Looking at me in surprise, Sam nodded. "How did you know that dad's aiming for the race?" he asked, his tone a wonder in measured neutrality.

Shrugging, I grabbed another stack of napkins and started folding them. "I have a neighbor who knows things. So it's true, then." This was very interesting. It was like being on one of my mother's detective shows – only better, because my informant looked like Mr. Darcy. And so far no one had been killed.

Sam was quiet for so long I thought he'd forgotten the question. When he answered his voice was guarded. "Dad's always been very ambitious," he said slowly. "He's always wanted to have the best – and the biggest – clients. He already does the governor's ball in October, and the annual zoo fundraiser. The next thing, to him, at least, is the Indy 500. That's why you're going there in a few weeks."

"Oh." I wondered what Josh would think of this. He already had an unholy fascination with my boss. If he knew Mr. Selman – and his Ferrari – were going to be in his backyard he'd probably wet himself.

He grabbed the napkins I'd mangled and quickly refolded them. I wasn't sure what to do about that; why did he bother bringing me in here if he was just going to re-do all my work? But when he looked up and grinned I couldn't help smiling back.

"Come on," he told me, holding out his hand. I was just about to reach out and take it when it fell to his side and he turned to leave the room.

Was he playing games with me? I was quiet all the way down the hall, and when he asked me what kind of sandwich I wanted for lunch I shrugged and grabbed the can of peanut butter I'd left in the kitchen.

"Katie!" Andre, the head chef, stopped his vegetable chopping to come over and kiss me on both cheeks. "My new favorite little person! Do you want me to make you something for lunch?" He grabbed the peanut-butter coated knife out of my hands and shooed me away. Andre's peanut butter and jellies were to die for.

Sam, his butter knife frozen in midair, watched our interchange with a quizzical expression. "Hey, Andre," he said when it was apparent that the chef wasn't going to offer to make his lunch, too. "How are things going in here?"

"Fine, fine," Andre said breezily. "Right on schedule. Here you go, Katie. You be sure to come back when you get hungry, okay?"

I laughed and hugged him. "You know I will."

I waited for Sam to finish putting his sandwich together, and as we left Andre called out, "I still think you should let me set you up with my brother. He's been looking for a girl like you!"

Shaking my head, I just laughed again and called back, "Maybe later. Thanks, Andre. You're the best."

Sam walked through the back door and across the parking lot to the grass, where I paused to take off my shoes. It felt good to have the soft grass, cool from the shade of the trees lining the pond, under my feet. Sam didn't say anything, and I didn't, either. It was nice to get out of the hustle of the building for a change.

He perched himself on a picnic table and I sank to the ground, stretching my legs out in front of me. "There's room up here, you know," Sam said a little stiffly.

Mm, Andre made a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I know," I said in a sticky voice. "But it feels good to stretch out. You should try it."

Sam sat there for a moment in indecision and then got up to sit next to me. "See?" I asked. "Doesn't that feel better?"

He grunted and stared at his sandwich sadly. "How do you know Andre so well?" he asked.

"He brings me lunch every day," I said, surprised at the question. "Why? Shouldn't I know him?"

Sam shrugged and stuffed his sandwich into his mouth. "You've only been working here a week, and he's already trying to set you up with his brother."

I snorted and then coughed when the bite I'd just taken lodged itself in my throat. Sam whacked me on the back until everything was back to normal. "Thanks," I gasped, trying to take a deep breath. "I needed that."

Sam moved back to his original position and chewed his lunch with no evidence that he was enjoying it. "I like Andre," I told him after a second. "He's nice, and he makes fabulous food. And I like to hear the stories about his family. His brother, by the way, is only nineteen. Much too young for me."

I saw his head jerk up at that. "He's nineteen?" Sam said slowly.

Really, for someone who'd wanted to know the business from the ground up he sure didn't know anything important. "And he has two dogs. After Mr. P, I don't think I could live with another one."

It was Sam's turn to snort, and the sound made me laugh. "You should get to know him – Andre, not the brother," I told him matter-of-factly, looking up. "Andre's funny. He says he likes me mostly because Mr. Selman sends me down to grab all his desserts from the kitchen instead of going himself. This is a good idea, evidently, because Mr. Selman makes him so nervous that the bad karma he brings into the kitchen taints all the food."

Sam laughed outright at this. "He tends to have that effect on people." He looked at me sidelong. "So how are you doing here? Are you regretting the day you met me on the trail?"

Well, I wasn't all that thrilled that Sam had seen me captured by a dog, but you can't have everything. "No," I said firmly. "I like it here. Everyone is so nice."

"Everyone?"

Hm. Maybe not Agnes. "Just about. And I'm glad you work here."

Sam swallowed and looked out over the pond. It would be so easy to imagine that Pemberley was behind us. I could pretend that Sam had a wet shirt on . . . Wait a minute. That wasn't actually in the book, more's the pity. "Katie, would you go to – "

The sound of squealing tires made him turn around before he finished, and for the first time in a very long while I was tempted to kill whoever was in that car. Couldn't they see that we were in the middle of something very important? When I looked up and saw who was in the car I buried my head in my hands and prayed that Josh hadn't seen me.

He stopped his car with a spray of gravel and opened the door. The precious car that I'd heard so much about looked like a bug that someone had stepped on and then forgotten in the rain long enough for it to start decomposing. "What kind of car is that?" I asked half to myself. For someone so fascinated with cars, I'd have thought he'd have something a little flashier. Of course, I didn't actually know what he did for the museum. Maybe he was the person who sold you your tickets and then went home to watch reality tv with his mother.

"A Corvette," Sam said absently, frowning at the car – and its occupant. "Maybe late '90s."

Did every male in Indianapolis have an encyclopedic memory when it came to automobiles? I was beginning to think I was living in the wrong state. Make that the wrong era.

Sam got to his feet and stood in front of me, his frown still firmly in place. "Can I help you with something?" he called to an advancing Josh.

"I'm looking for Katie Embury," Josh told him, craning his neck to see behind Sam. "Is that you, Katie?"

I groaned and rubbed my forehead. What could the guy possibly want from me here at work?

"Hey, Josh," I said in a tone that I hoped told him I wasn't thrilled to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Josh sauntered up to us, tossing his keys from hand to hand. Just when he reached Sam they slipped from his grasp and he bent quickly to grab them out of the grass, his face flushing. "I'm here on official museum business," he said importantly after he'd straightened to his full (and unimpressive) height. "My boss sent me to make sure everything's ready for tonight."

"Excuse me," Sam said more politely than I thought Josh deserved, "but who are you?"

Oh, for heaven's sake. I scrambled to my feet and tried to dust the grass off my skirt without it being too obvious. "Sam, this is Josh Haskins. He works for the Hall of Fame museum. Josh, Sam Selman."

Josh's eyes widened slightly when Sam's name registered, and he stuck out his hand. "It's a real pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said. Sam shook his hand with a strained expression. "I didn't know you and Katie were friends. We were out on a date a few days ago and she never mentioned you."

Could this possibly get any worse? If I'd had any of my lunch left I would have stuffed it in his mouth to shut him up. "Actually," I said hurriedly, "we weren't – "

"I'm sorry I haven't called you since then," Josh went on, his face a mask of penitence as I glared at him. "I've been busy, you know. Very big things happening at the museum these days."

Sam watched Josh through narrowed eyes. "I wasn't aware that Don Delanco worked for the track," he said, his forehead wrinkled in what I can only assume was confusion. "As of yesterday he was the owner of a large chemical company."

"Oh, well . . . er . . . he doesn't, actually. But my boss, Mark Anderson, will be attending tonight and I thought it would be a good idea if – "

"Does Anderson know you're here?" Sam interrupted.

Unease flashed across Josh's face so quickly that I was sure I'd imagined it. "Of course he does."

"Maybe I should call him," I said brightly. "I'm sure Mr. Selman has his number on file, and it would be nice for them to catch up on old times." I had no idea if Mr. Selman actually knew this Mark Anderson person, but my ploy worked because a look of pure panic started to grow on Josh's face. "Why don't I go do that now?" I went on, smiling at him innocently. "Let's go, Sam. I might need you to help me find my way back."

Sam glanced at me quizzically and I winked at him. He covered his mouth with his hand, but when he answered me his voice was steady and calm. "That's a very good idea, Miss Embury. Shall we?" He held out his arm (Mr. Darcy, eat your heart out!) and we prepared to walk past Josh.

"That won't be necessary!" Josh squeaked, running after us. Sam stopped politely and waited for Josh to catch his breath. I wasn't sure if he was winded from his dash across the grass – after all, we'd only gone a few feet – or from nerves. Evidently Mrs. Bennet wasn't the only one who could suffer from them. "I can tell him myself," he said after a second. "I'd be glad to give him any messages Mr. Selman wants."

"Is that so?" Sam watched his attempt to calm down with amused eyes. "Well, you can tell him that the party being thrown by the Delanco family is right on schedule, and should there be any problems Mr. Delanco will be the first to know." Sam's voice grew colder with each word that came out of his mouth. "Now, unless you have a function you'd like to plan for personal reasons I'll ask you to leave. As you know, big things are happening here these days."

Josh's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was like he was trying to decide whether Sam had just insulted him to his face. "I see," he said slowly. "I understand completely. Katie, I'll call you later on tonight." He leaned around Sam, who hadn't moved throughout our conversation, and handed me what appeared to be a video game card. "You left this behind the other night," he told me, a half-smile on his face. "I thought you might want it back." Then he gave me a knowing look and strode back toward his car.

Sam and I stood there in silence until he'd disappeared around the side of the building. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound horrid, so I just kept my mouth shut. Sam let out a gust of air and shook his head.

"You pick some interesting friends," he said, bending over to retrieve the remnants of our lunch.

"He's my brother's friend, not mine," I told him before I could stop myself. At his puzzled look I went on, "Oliver likes his sister so I agreed to go with the three of them to his museum last weekend. He never showed, and he offered to take me to dinner to apologize. That's where I met David," I said, knowing my explanation was ridiculously garbled. Had I suddenly turned into a healthy version of Kitty? At least I wasn't giggling, although as soon as I thought that I had a mad urge to do just that. "I'd just run out of money for that blasted game and your brother gave me his card. I'd hoped Josh would leave me alone after that." I shrugged helplessly. "I guess I thought wrong."

Sam still looked confused, but he smiled at me slightly anyway and took the card from me. "Did you really leave this behind?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

"If I did it was because I'd used all of David's money. Do you think he was angry with me?"

He snorted and handed it back. "I don't think he even remembered you have it." I fell into step beside him as he started back across the parking lot, without offering me his arm this time. Sam tossed our things in the garbage before turning to me with a strange expression. It was like he was trying to decide something before he said anything. "You know, I was thinking," he said slowly. "Would you like to meet sometime next week for lunch? Dad'll be gone for a few days, and it would be good to sit and talk without having to worry about anything getting back to work. Hannah'll be there, too," he added hastily, as though he was afraid I'd say no if it were just him.

Well, a lunch date with Sam was what I'd been hoping he was on the verge of asking before Josh had interrupted him, so who was I to argue that his sister would be there too? "Sounds like fun," I said, smiling up at him. "Count me in."

He smiled back and raised his hand as though to touch my face, but he must have thought twice because it fell back to his side. "I'm looking forward to it," he told me. "After all, we hardly know each other."

When I got in bed that night the events of the afternoon played over and over in my mind. I couldn't help wondering if Sam had wanted to ask me out on a proper date before Josh had ruined everything. I hoped so. Of course, Josh was turning into a very Wickham-like character (although I'd somehow pictured him as taller, and without the obsession over cars), so who knew what he was capable of?

I just hoped he never remembered I had a younger sister. After all, she wasn't sixteen – yet.

_Author's note_: Heck, I never know what to say in these things. Thanks to Linnea and CJ for putting up with me this long, and for laughing at all the right parts.

As always, I'd love to hear what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

When the phone rang Sunday afternoon I was half asleep in the backyard, dreaming of ponds and white shirts. "Hello?" I mumbled, not really wanting to pull myself back to reality.

"Have you seen your brother?" Jessica demanded.

Now I _really_ wished I'd stayed asleep. "No," I said, yawning. "I haven't seen him since last night. I thought he was over at your place."

Jessica made a rude noise. "Well, he's not. Have him call me when he gets home." Then the line went dead.

So things weren't all happiness and joy in Jessica-land. Perhaps my worries on Oliver's behalf would soon be put to rest when she realized he wasn't going to drop out of school. I was starting to think things were looking up for both me and my brother when he walked through the back door and collapsed onto the bench next to me. He looked exhausted.

We sat there quietly for a while, the only sounds a neighbor's lawnmower a few yards away and Mr. P's snuffling snores. Finally Oliver sighed and glanced over at me.

"How was your first week on the job?" he asked.

If you took away the murdered shirt and Josh's unwelcome appearance, it hadn't been that bad. "Good, actually," I said.

Should I have said something about David and his insinuation that because I was Mr. Selman's assistant he expected me to cozy up with him? I looked at my brother out of the corner of my eye. He had his own problems, the least of which were David and Peter's Perfect Catering. I was sure I could deal with David's flirting on my own. The fact that I hadn't seen him since Monday had to mean something, right?

"How about you?" I asked, thinking it wouldn't be a bad idea to change the subject. "Do you still feel like you're in over your head?"

Oliver grimaced. "The schoolwork's not that bad," he said. "I can handle that. I just wish Jessica would understand that I don't have a lot of free time anymore." He sighed and rubbed his temples. Maybe face-rubbing was a family trait. I'd have to pay more attention to Mom and Dad the next time I was home.

"She called a little bit ago, by the way."

He shot to his feet, searching wildly for the phone. Now I _knew_ he had to dump her. "Calm down, Oliver," I said testily. "She's not going to march over here and string you up by your toenails. Sit down and rest for a minute. You look like you could use it."

He stood there for a long time, frozen in indecision. Mr. P thumped his tail languidly on the ground, opened one eye sleepily, and yawned, his mouth stretched so wide a frog could have jumped on his tongue and seen all the way down his throat. This must have hit Oliver right in his sleep-deprived nerves, because he slumped back into the seat beside me without another word. Two minutes later he was fast asleep.

I picked up my book and flipped through it idly. I wished Elizabeth had had a brother so I could find some useful advice on dealing with mine. Unfortunately, the closest things she had were psycho sisters – and while I might occasionally think Oliver was off his rocker, he did have random moments of lucidity. I just hadn't seen one recently. At least, not since Jessica'd started to get her claws into him.

Oliver stirred when I got to my feet a while later, rubbing his eyes and stretching out his legs. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked in a croaky voice.

I looked up at the sun and wished I'd paid more attention in Girl Scouts. Didn't they try to teach us how to tell time by the sun? "Maybe half an hour?"

He sighed and slid even further down the bench. "I heard Josh saw you at work last week," he said languidly. "He was quite impressed with the grounds."

I'll bet he was. "I can't figure out why he was there." I frowned. "He gave some stupid story about checking out a party for his boss. He really ticked off Mr. Selman's son."

Oliver's eyebrows rose. "Since when have you cared about the son? Oh, wait. He's that guy you met on the trail, the one who could be an axe murderer."

"He's not an axe murderer."

Smiling, Oliver sat up and looked around. "It's nice back here," he noted in surprise. "And, if you ask me, Josh came to the catering company to see you. He really likes you."

I snorted so loud Mr. P jumped to his feet and started to growl. "It's okay, Mr. P," I said. "Oliver just said something stupid. Go back to sleep." Mr. P looked at me balefully before turning his back and wandering off to investigate a tree at the far end of the yard. "Now you've done it," I told my brother. "You should know not to irritate the dog."

"I don't know why you think it's so strange that Josh would like you," he said, ignoring my warning completely. "I mean, you're a girl and he's a guy. What's so surprising about that?"

I stood there and blinked at him. "So does that mean you're only interested in Jessica because she's so obviously a girl?"

Flushing, Oliver had the grace to look uncomfortable. "No, of course not. She has a very interesting . . . "

"Set of assets?"

Oliver glared at me. "That's not what I was going to say, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about my girlfriend like that. I'm just saying that Josh wanted to see you, so he came by your office. Nothing else."

"Hmph." Since when was she the girlfriend? Last time I checked they'd known each other for a week, if you didn't count the few days he'd spent at her mom's house when he and Josh were in college. And from all I could see, she made such a lasting impression on him that he didn't remember her in the slightest. I thought about asking if he really thought this thing with Jessica was worth all the time and stress, but Mr. P suddenly bolted around the side of the house, barking joyfully.

"What's up with him?" Oliver asked, not bothering to move a muscle.

"Junie Fredericks is coming by to help me make cookies," I said, following the sound of Mr. P's excited yelps. "She's bringing her baby, and we're going to explore Bea's basement when we're done. You coming?"

He just shook his head and sighed heavily. "No, I'd better get over to Jessica's. Save some of those cookies for me – and leave some for Josh while you're at it."

"Nice try, bro."

"Come on, you know you want to."

I would have laughed at that, but I could tell he was serious.

***

I sat on a kitchen chair while Junie baked. (She'd said she needed to do something besides hold a fractious baby, but so far all Addy'd done, besides sit in my lap, was stare at Mr. P and flap her hands.)

"All right," Junie said, dusting her hands on her apron. "How long again?"

"Nine and a half minutes."

She didn't even bat an eye. "Got it. Now, let's get to the fun part." She grinned and followed Addy and me down the stairs. "Bea's told me a little about her years as a socialite in New York; she must have some great stuff down here."

"She gave most of it away, but she told me before she left that I could use whatever I wanted." I shrugged. The idea of my Aunt Bea flitting around town with handsome men had always seemed a little unreal. The only Bea I knew was the one that flitted around the world with her husband, trying to educate the masses one English class at a time.

The only furniture in the spare room was a bed, a small desk, and a very large chest of drawers. Junie made a beeline for that, and I placed Addy on her blanket on the floor so she could see what was happening. "Anything interesting in there?" I asked, hoping I'd be able to hear the timer in the kitchen before the oven caught fire.

"Not yet," came Junie's muffled reply. "Just a lot of handkerchiefs and hair accessories. Bea must have had long hair when she was younger."

I wandered over to the closet, and I stood in front of the open door, not believing what I saw. Who knew there was a closet this big in Bea's spare bedroom? Why didn't mine have a walk-in like this?

"What's in there, Katie?" Junie put her head next to mine and whistled softly. "She must have gone to _loads_ of parties to have that many fancy dresses."

I could only nod in reply. Before us were several rows of clothing that had been hung lovingly on padded hangers. I stretched out my hand and fingered a black, shimmery dress. "She did," I said, the silk whispering against my skin. "She loved parties. That was where she met George. When he proposed she dropped everything and came to live in Indiana. She said she never regretted that decision, even when no children came along. I don't think I could have done it."

Junie laughed quietly. "That's because you haven't met the right one yet," she said knowingly. "When you do, you'll both be willing to make sacrifices for each other."

What was this, some sort of Disney-inspired marriage prep class? I just shook my head and pulled the dress off its hanger. "It's beautiful," I said, holding it up to me. "I wonder if it fits."

Junie's eyes lit up. "Oh, try it on!" she cried, pushing me away from the closet. "It'll be like playing dress-up, only with clothes that won't kill you when you walk around to show your friends." She paused when Mr. P started barking upstairs. "Should I go check on him?" she asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

I cocked my head and listened. Behind the sound of Mr. P I could hear the oven timer. "I think he's trying to tell us that the cookies are done," I laughed. No wonder Bea liked that dog so much. If you could get over his fascination for squirrels, and his occasional bursts of crazy, frenetic energy, he was very useful.

Junie dashed upstairs while I changed. When she came back I was standing in the middle of the room, wondering if I looked as completely stupid as I felt. "Well?" I asked, trying not to sound self-conscious. "Does it look decent?"

Junie walked around me, being careful not to step on her sleeping baby. After she'd circled me twice she stopped and gazed at me seriously. "I think that dress was made for you. I could never pull it off that well. Even before I got pregnant. I'm too tall."

I didn't know if I dared look at myself in a mirror, but Junie laughingly pushed me toward the bathroom. "Go on," she said. "I'll stay out here so you won't be embarrassed when you see how elegant you look."

I fumbled with the light switch, and when I turned around I almost didn't recognize the person staring back at me. Bea may have had her things for a long time, but she evidently knew enough about fashion to choose clothing that was classically cut. The black dress I had on could have passed for something in a fancy store down the street from the office – with a hefty price tag. "Not bad," I told my reflection. "If only I had a reason to wear it."

When I got back to the spare room Junie had a pile of things on the bed for me to inspect. "I already took the dresses upstairs for the dry cleaners," she told me matter-of-factly. "All this stuff is casual enough for you to wear to work. It was all stuck in the back of the closet," she explained when I looked at her dumbly. "Come on, there are some great things here. You'll look like you just stepped out of _The Great Gatsby_."

She was probably right. And I had yet to meet a girl that wouldn't die to get an entirely new wardrobe free of charge without having to leave the comfort of her own home. I grinned across the bed at Junie, who beamed back at me. "You know, Junie," I said, trying to sound serious and failing miserably, "I'm beginning to think it was a great thing that I moved here. We just might be very good friends."

"I certainly hope so," she responded. "After all, who'll show Addy how to make those cookies?"

"You could. You're a great cook."

She made a face. "Yeah, but you're the current cookie expert. I hope your coworkers tomorrow can keep their paws off them before the boss gets in."

***

Sam was sitting in my chair when I walked in the next morning. I was wearing one of Bea's outfits (even though they were a tad too long, I was still amazed at how well they fit) and his expression was unreadable when I stared at him from across the desk.

"You look different," he finally said slowly, regarding me bemusedly.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I knew I shouldn't have let Junie talk me into this. Of course, she hadn't had to talk very hard . . .

He shook his head as though to jar his thoughts loose. "Definitely good. You look like you just stepped off a yacht on Cape Cod. Are you sure your name isn't Daisy?"

"Only if you're Jay Gatsby. And the book took place on Long Island, not Cape Cod."

Sam laughed, an admiring expression lingering on his face. I wasn't sure if the look was for the outfit or the fact that I knew enough about _The Great Gatsby_ to correct him. "You're right, naturally," he said and then got to his feet so I could put my things away. "I guess I was confusing Fitzgerald with Ralph Lauren. But you could pass for Cecily Cardew -- in more ways than one."

Cecily Cardew's guardian had been Mr. Darcy. Depending in which version you saw. "I could deal with that," I replied, thinking there could be worse things in life than living with Mr. Darcy. Given the opportunity, I was sure I could give Elizabeth a run for her money. "Does that make you Jack?"

Sam shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, I see myself more as an Algernon." Feeling my cheeks get warm, I bent over to hide my face from his gaze and unwrapped my plate of cookies. Sam grabbed several before I'd even placed them on the desk. "I waited patiently all last week for these," he said, taking a bite out of one and closing his eyes in appreciation. "You know, it's torture to treat a guy like that."

"Like what?"

He swallowed and opened his eyes slowly, meeting my gaze straight on. "Giving a guy just a taste of what's to come. I've been dreaming about these things every night." He smiled and popped another cookie in his mouth. "Please tell me everything you make tastes this good. I might just have to sweep you off your feet."

He had to _try_ to do that? I thought it was a natural gift. I shrugged. "I haven't killed anyone yet, but I guess you'll just have to come over for dinner sometime and judge for yourself." Did I really just say that? Josie would be so proud.

"I guess I will." Sam grinned. "That reminds me. Do you want to go to lunch on Thursday? Hannah's really stoked. Dad'll be out all day, so we could take our time."

It was really happening. I was going on a date with Mr. Darcy. Life didn't get any better than this. "Sounds good to me," I told him, knowing that I sounded too eager and not really caring.

"What sounds good?" Mr. Selman appeared around the corner and headed straight for the plate on my desk. "Cookies, Miss Embury."

The wiring in the building must only work when he was in his office. "I was just talking to Katie about going out to lunch on Thursday," Sam said, watching sadly as half the contents disappeared, first into his father's mouth and then into his computer bag. I hoped the chocolate didn't get all over the leather – or the computer. "Hannah and I were going to take her."

Mr. Selman nodded absently, more interested in chewing than in listening to us blather on about something he wasn't involved in. Then, his jaws frozen mid- chew, he looked from Sam to me and back again. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Taking her out to lunch, eh? Splendid idea, boy. You should take the day off, Miss Embury. I won't need you at all that day."

That did wonders for my self-confidence level. "Are you sure, sir? I'd feel better if I were here anyway, just in case."

Mr. Selman seemed surprised at that. "Take the day off, Miss Embury. I rather like the idea of my son – and daughter – getting to know you better. And Sam," he added, "make sure she remains happy here. I don't want to hear about a depressed Katie Embury in my employ!"

"Yes, sir." Sam seemed strangely uncomfortable.

Mr. Selman grunted, grabbed another handful of cookies, and said before he closed his office door, "Make a larger batch of these next week, Miss Embury."

Sam and I stared at the closed door for a long time. I couldn't help but think that the only reason Sam had asked me to lunch was because he wanted to 'keep me 'happy'. I hoped I was just being paranoid.

"Well, there we go," Sam said finally, breaking the silence. "Since you'll have the day off, why don't Hannah and I meet you somewhere in Broad Ripple? You were parked there the first time we met, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding it."

"I don't get lost," I said huffily before remembering my hour-long journey around Monument Circle just a few weeks ago. I could feel my cheeks getting warm – again -- and Sam smirked at me.

"Is that so? Well, then we'll see you at the Broad Ripple Brew Pub on 65th Street at one sharp. And, Katie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bring Mr. Poppikins this time. I'd like to be able to see you near the Monon Trail without wearing a leash."

***

I saw neither Sam nor Oliver until Thursday: Sam, because he was working off-site, and Oliver, because he was splitting his time between the MBA lounge and Jessica's house. He did come home every night, though.

My phone rang at eleven as I was staring into my closet, trying to decide what to wear on a date with a guy who may only have asked me out to keep his father happy. "Hello?" I asked, not bothering to see who was calling.

"Katie! I haven't talked to you in like forever!"

"Josie? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Nah. It's lunchtime. So what's up? I was going to call you last night but Mom was on the phone forever with Oliver's school. She seems to think they're working him too hard."

Evidently my mother had better luck talking to Oliver than I did – and I lived with the man. "It's not school that's got him so tired," I told her, sinking onto the bed and resting my head on my knees. "He's been seeing this girl that's a little demanding. She doesn't like the fact that he spends more of his time on campus than with her."

I could hear the sound of several hundred teenagers gossiping in the background. "Well, she sounds like a loser. Tell Oliver to dump her."

"I tried that."

"Yeah, right. You probably just thought about it and changed your mind when the subject came up. You can be so wimpy sometimes."

Was that true? That could explain why Josh hadn't got the hint yet. "Well, I'll work on that. Hey, when did you get a cell phone?"

She giggled and said something to one of her friends. "I don't have one. I've been bugging Mom about it forever. I'm borrowing Jesse's."

What was up with all these 'J' names? Josie and Jesse, Josh and Jessica . . . It was like I'd landed myself in some sort of strange alternate universe where the normal naming rules didn't apply. Come to think of it, that sounded vaguely Austen-ish; there seemed to be an Elizabeth or a Mary in every one of her books. It could get very confusing unless you knew what you were doing. "That's nice of him," I said absently, eyeing the contents of my closet for the fourth time.

"What are you doing? Are you at work?"

"I'm getting ready for a lunch date," I said without thinking about it. When Josie squealed (almost splitting my eardrums in the process) I nearly dropped the phone.

"You're going on a date?" she cried. "Who is he? Is he cute? How did you meet him?"

This was why I never told anyone anything. "Josie, don't – "

I could hear a bell blaring in the background. "Gotta go, Katie," Josie said in frustration. "Promise me you'll call tonight. I want to hear how it went!"

I could only attribute her excitement, misguided as it was, to the fact that our parents didn't let us date until we were sixteen so she wanted to live vicariously through me. "I'll send you an email," I told her firmly. "Now you'd better get to class so you can come visit me in a few weeks."

The click of the phone was the only thing I heard.

***

I got to the restaurant ridiculously early (to prove to Sam that I really wasn't directionally challenged) and, since I didn't really want to wander around and risk losing track of time, I walked into the pub and asked for an outside table so I could watch for Sam and Hannah.

Everyone knows that the more you want something, the longer it takes to actually happen, and that was certainly the case that afternoon. It was like waiting for water to boil, sitting there outside in the shade. I jumped every time I saw two people with dark hair turn the corner. At half past one I started to get a little miffed, and by ten 'til two I was past miffed and almost all the way to angry. What was it about me that made boys 'forget' a date? This was the second time in as many weeks, and I was beginning to think it would just be safer if I swore off boys altogether. Safer for me, at least. Didn't Sam have a cell phone? And a home phone? And a work phone? How hard could it be to pick up just one of those and call? I considered calling him myself but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

At two o'clock the waiters, who had been sending sidelong, pitying glances at me for a while now, were starting to whisper behind their hands when they thought I wasn't paying attention. I tried to ignore them, but that's hard to do when you're stuck somewhere with nothing better to do than think of painful ways to kill someone. At this point, Sam would be lucky if he'd been run over by one of the kitchen trucks at work. Maybe I'd drive it myself. I'd just about given up and had even started to get to my feet when I heard someone call my name.

"Katie! Katie Embury! Over here!"

My head turned automatically and when I saw who was yelling at me I seriously considered crawling under the table and hiding. Josh Haskins strode across the street and stopped next to my table. The only thing separating us was the fence around the seating area, which, in my opinion, was woefully inadequate.

"Katie! What a surprise! What are you doing here all alone?"

Trust Josh to rub it in that I'd been stood up. Again. Just wait 'til I got my hands on Sam. I didn't care who he looked like. Maybe I'd been cursed. "Nothing," I said, trying to edge away. A very large man had just sat down behind me, and it was hard to maneuver with only three inches between us. "I was just about to leave."

Josh glanced down at the table, which held several empty soda bottles, and then back up at me. He snickered. "Without eating anything? Come on, this place has the best barbeque."

I scowled at him and crossed my arms over my chest. "Yeah, well, thanks for the sympathy."

Josh shrugged and jumped over the fence before I could tell him not to bother. The more I saw of him, the more I remembered why I'd never dated any of Oliver's friends. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were waiting for someone that never showed up. So it must be my lucky day, because he obviously stood you up and I'm here to take his place. Very convenient."

If I didn't know it was completely ridiculous I'd say he'd turned into a stalker. "So what are you doing here at this time of the day?" I demanded. "Shouldn't you be working or something?"

Josh lounged in his chair and beckoned to a passing waiter. "Let me at least buy you a drink," he said, avoiding my question. His arm muscles flexed when he waved our server over, and I wondered idly how he didn't feel stupid. Maybe other girls were impressed by obvious displays of brute strength, but it did nothing for me. "I know we haven't gotten off to the best start, so just consider this our first date."

The waiter came over and Josh ordered something to drink. I was too busy thinking of ways to get rid of him to notice what he'd requested.

Okay, the time to be like Jane Bennet had officially ended. "I don't want a date, Josh."

He smiled at me indulgently. "You like thinking we've been going out for a while? I can deal with that."

I rolled my eyes in frustration. "No, you don't understand. I don't want any date. You're not my type. At all."

Josh's smile tightened ever so slightly. "You're obviously confused, Katie." He leaned over to pat my hand like I was a pouting two-year-old who couldn't make up her mind between crackers or fruit snacks. "You don't know what you want. I understand, so I won't hold your words against you. This is your first time in a big city, and you aren't used to dealing with real men."

I could only stare at him, my mouth hanging open. Okay, I'd been wrong before when I compared him to Wickham. Here before me was a real-life Mr. Collins. How did he manage to escape from the book? And, more importantly, how did I get him back in it? "I don't know where you get your Neanderthal mentality, Josh Haskins, but every man I've met in Vincennes is twice the man you are. Who stands a girl up and then takes her to an arcade so he can beat her as an apology? You deserved everything you got that night," I added when he pulled his hand back, his face flushing in anger.

"You don't know what you're saying." This was quickly becoming a sort of mantra for him, I could already tell.

"I do know what I want, and it's not you. Please, Josh, leave me alone. I'm sure there are other, more easily impressed girls out there that would suit you much better than I would." It took an extreme amount of concentration to choke out that last sentence.

During my little speech Josh's face, which had reflected a great deal of sardonic amusement, had steadily morphed into annoyance and then to anger. When I stopped speaking he gripped the sides of the table and got to his feet. He leaning forward, his face so close to mine that I could smell the alcohol on his breath. It stunk.

"Let me tell you one thing, Katie Embury. You may think you're hot stuff, working for Peter Selman and hitting on his son, but you just wait. One day, and sooner than anyone thinks, I'll be the one in control of things, and you'll be on the sidelines kicking yourself for ever turning me down."

I stared back at him, sure he'd lost what few brain cells remained in his grey matter. After what felt like an eternity, Josh straightened to his full, diminutive height. As soon as he did my eyes fell on a man and a woman on the other side of the street. Sam was standing stock still, his hands fisted at his sides. Our eyes met for just a second, but it was long enough for me to see that he was surprised. And, from the look of things, angrier than I'd ever seen him. Hannah just stood there next to him, trying to pull him away without being obvious. Then they disappeared around the corner.

What right did he have to be so angry? If I'd thought I was mad before, it was nothing compared to what I felt now. And not at Josh. The only thing I wanted to do at that moment was to throttle Sam Selman and then stomp holes in him with my heels.

Before Josh could say another word I jerked my chair back so fast that I bumped into the man sitting behind me, who turned to see what kind of idiot had jostled his chair so hard. When he swiveled around, he elbowed our waiter, and the next thing I knew the tray he was carrying, filled with glasses of water and mugs of the restaurant's signature brew, tipped over and all the contents gushed on my head and down my back, soaking my new blouse.

Josh smirked at me one last time and fished an ice cube from where it rested between my collar and the hollow in my throat. "That's a good look for you, Katie," he said, and popped the ice into his mouth. "I'll be seeing you around." He hopped back over the fence and sauntered away, chuckling when I threw a handful of ice cubes after him.

That night I laid in bed, watching the moon slowly move from one end of the sky to the other. If Elizabeth had been dumb enough to get into a situation like this, what would she do? I asked myself this question over and over, but could never come up with anything that made sense. She did have a bit of a temper. It seemed I did too. I hadn't been this angry this often since I'd crawled out of puberty. Sam was the one that had been late – extremely late. It wasn't like I'd asked Josh to crash my table. What did he expect me to do, sit around forever in the hopes that he'd show up when he felt good and ready? If that was what he'd assumed he had another thing coming.

Maybe I should get him a clock. Then I could tell him exactly where he could shove it.

_Author's note_: I know you all were looking forward to a grand date with Sam, but things didn't go according to plan in the original, either. I promise you'll get your enchanted evening before too long!

Thanks to Linnea for helping me get Katie nice and angry, and to CJ, whose help with the catering stuff is invaluable.

Leave me a review and tell me what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Throughout the weekend I stalked around the house fuming about Sam. Why hadn't he called me? It was really his fault that I'd been in that position in the first place, and I was in no frame of mind to just sit back and forgive him. So what if I'd been going to church every Sunday since the day I was born? My teachers had obviously never met Sam Selman.

I got to work Monday just as Agnes was putting her things away. She glanced up at me when I elbowed open the door but she quickly turned her attention back to the computer.

"Hi, Agnes," I said, slightly out of breath. "I brought you some cookies."

I rested the plate in front of her, and her fingers wavered as she moved to push the button to let me through. By the time I'd reached the Star Trek door she had a cookie halfway to her mouth. Evidently their reputation had preceded them.

Sam's office was dark and empty when I got there, which was what I'd been hoping for. I set my things on his desk and sat down to wait. I knew he'd be in that day; I'd seen his name on Mr. Selman's calendar. There was no way he could avoid me this morning.

Waiting, however, has never been my strong point, and after a while I got bored. It's all well and good to be angry at someone, but to have to sit around and wait to yell at that person is a little disappointing. I opened the door so I could see him coming, and I was in the middle of pacing off his office – it was six feet by seven, according to my size six shoes -- when a crash just outside the door made me jump, and I fell against the wall. Sam was kneeling down, hastily gathering up white lilies strewn across the floor and stuffing them back into a vase. I was surprised it hadn't broken.

Sam didn't make a sound or look up, and when he got to his feet he kept his head averted. "What are you doing here?"

What did he think I was doing there? "Waiting for you."

Sam's eyes flickered to the plate on his desk and back to me. "Thanks for the cookies," he mumbled. "I'd forgotten today was cookie day. I'm sure my dad will be thrilled."

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him yet."

He looked at me properly for the first time, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "Is that so? Then you'd better get back. He gets irritated if his staff isn't prompt."

So I was Mr. Selman's _staff_ now? I pushed myself from the wall, wishing I'd laced those stupid cookies with methylene blue. Then it would have been a pleasure to see him wolf them down. Where was Oliver when I needed him?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Selman, but these cookies aren't for you. I brought them for people who aren't rude enough to keep a girl waiting at a restaurant for an hour and a half." I grabbed the plate from his desk and turned around so quickly I ran into the only chair in the room, knocking it into a filing cabinet. Sam watched as I kicked it viciously. Man, that hurt! I should know better than to wear flimsy shoes to work. Trying to keep my expression bland (the last thing I wanted was for him to pity me) I marched to the door, wincing inwardly every time my toe hit the ground. Sam wouldn't budge when I tried to push past him, and we glared at each other for a long time before Sam broke the silence.

"Why are you really here, Katie?" he asked tiredly. "If it wasn't to bring me a peace offering, what do you want from me?"

"I want an explanation." Sore toe forgotten for the moment, I glowered up at him. "Come on, you were late last Thursday. Inexcusably late. You better have a good excuse."

Sam glared right back at me. "And I want an explanation of why you were making eyes at that stupid guy who tried to hit on you last week while you were having lunch with me. Did you invite him along in case Hannah and I bored you?"

I swear, if my toe hadn't been throbbing so badly I would have kicked him, too. "Josh appeared out of nowhere at two o'clock. _Uninvited_. If you'd at least called to tell me you'd be late I would have wandered around instead of sitting there like a roasted duck, just waiting for that idiot to come over and ruin my – " I stopped talking abruptly. There were some things Sam didn't need to know.

"What are you talking about?" Sam looked a little uncertain. Good. It was about time he stopped assuming things.

"Josh saw me from across the street – "

"No, the other part. What do you mean, if I'd called you?"

I stared at him, incredulous. "I had my phone next to my napkin the whole time I sat at that table. It never rang, and there were no missed calls."

Sam closed his eyes and slumped against the doorframe. "I didn't call you because things were ghastly here for a while," he said. "I knew we were going to be late, so I asked Agnes to call you for me. I'm guessing she didn't."

_Agnes_. I stomped my foot and then winced. Fortunately Sam's eyes were still closed and he didn't see that. "Yeah, well, Agnes doesn't like me. You know, it only would have taken you ten seconds to call yourself. It wasn't like I was going to talk your ear off."

Sam smiled a little, but when he finally opened his eyes his expression was tired and sad. "I know, but I didn't _have_ ten seconds. I yelled at Agnes over my shoulder as I ran into the lobby." He let a breath out slowly and ran his hand through his hair. "Katie, I'm so sorry. I'll go speak to Agnes – "

"No, no, no. Please don't," I gabbled. The last thing I needed was a resentful Agnes who still didn't like me. She might up and decide not to let me in the building one day. Until I got my own little button to push, I had to act like she was God's gift to receptionists.

"Well, I'm still sorry. There must be something I can do to make it up to you."

It did make sense, in a strange sort of way. And he was looking at me so anxiously . . . "I guess I forgive you," I said a little unwillingly. A few of the lines on Sam's forehead disappeared. "But it's still your fault Josh was there. So I guess the only way to truly redeem yourself is to go out and do away with him."

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

My laugh came out a little forced. "Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm not turning into Beatrice. Still, if it weren't for Josh I could have walked back to my car with a little more dignity."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

It seemed like he'd been saying that a lot recently. "Josh spotted me and invited himself to my table. Some huge guy had sat behind me so I couldn't escape. It was very unpleasant," I added, remembering Josh's words at the end of our discussion. "Anyway, one thing led to another and a passing waiter dumped his tray of drinks on my head. This was after I'd told Josh to leave."

Sam's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Is that so? What did you tell him, exactly?"

I absently put my plate back on Sam's desk and righted the chair so I wouldn't have to keep standing on that blasted toe. "I called him a Neanderthal and told him I didn't want to go out with him. Then I said he wasn't a real man." Man, that had been a prime opportunity to use Elizabeth's line. How many girls get to say, "I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry"? I mean, I knew Josh wasn't proposing, but surely I could have tweaked that statement a little. Opportunities like that just don't come around every other day.

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched and he cleared his throat before he said anything. "Unless your friend – sorry, your brother's friend – is the densest man on the planet, I'd say you got your point across. How did he take your rejection?"

"Not very well. He didn't actually cause the ruin of my blouse, but he sure didn't stick around to help, either. He said some very strange things." I frowned, wondering if Josh's words would come back to haunt me. Of course they wouldn't, I chided myself. What could Josh possibly do to me?

"What did he say?" Sam set the vase and his rear on his desk, pilfering a cookie when he thought I wasn't looking.

The last thing I wanted to be talking about while making up with Sam was Josh Haskins. "He just seemed to think I'd regret my decision, that's all. But I think he might have been a little tipsy, so I'm sure he didn't know what he was saying."

Sam looked unconvinced, but let the matter slide. "So am I forgiven?"

He looked so cute, sitting there on his desk with one leg swinging back and forth and a cookie in each hand, that I couldn't help smiling. "I suppose so. But the next time you're running late I expect you to call yourself, not pass the job onto your horrible receptionist."

"Since that means there'll be a next time, I promise." He grinned. "Can I interest you in a redo of our missed outing? The rest of the week is pretty much shot due to the museum tour on Saturday, but maybe early next week. Would you be interested?"

That was a stupid question. "Sure." I was pleased by how casual my voice sounded. "I should really get back to Mr. Selman's office," I said, trying to remember if I had to go anywhere with my boss that day. At least my foot wasn't hurting quite so much.

"Let me at least help you carry your things." Sam smiled down at me as he grabbed my plate of cookies. I noticed it wasn't piled nearly as high as it had been when I'd walked into his office, but only raised my eyebrows at him. "Hey," he said laughingly, "these are like gold around here. I understand even Andre wants one, and that's pretty high praise."

I just rolled my eyes and got to my feet. There was one good thing about working with a bunch of men: they were easily bribed. "I'm glad you like them," I said drily as we went toward my desk. The toe definitely felt better. Thank goodness I hadn't kicked the chair that hard.

***

Sam came by my desk quite frequently over the next few days. The only reason I could think of was to show me that he wasn't a flake, but I secretly hoped it was because he couldn't get enough of me. Hadn't Mr. Darcy followed Elizabeth around for a while? It seemed like they were always being thrown together, and in the back of my mind I'd always thought he'd only accepted party invitations if he knew she'd be there. Not that I was complaining, of course.

The rest of the week was pretty crazy. Mr. Selman called me at eleven thirty Wednesday night to make sure I'd sent his suit to the cleaners, and when I assured him that I had, he ordered me to call them to make sure they'd have it ready by the next evening. (I waited until Thursday morning to call, much to the cleaners' relief.) And when it arrived, he told me to send it back as it hadn't been creased properly. On top of everything else, I was sure I was wearing a path into the carpet between Mr. Selman's office and the kitchens. Evidently Mr. Selman inhaled pastries when he was tense. He either had a really, really high metabolism or the stress melted the calories away. I wonder if that would work for me.

I didn't understand what all the commotion was about until Sam enlightened me Friday afternoon as I was eating my lunch in a nearly-empty kitchen.

"It's just a museum tour," I said through a mouthful of chicken salad sandwich.

Sam sighed and shook his head. He folded and refolded his napkin, each time in a different shape. I was fascinated. How long had it taken him to learn all those napkin formations? "Normally I'd say you were right. But when we go tomorrow morning it'll be to feel out the track officials about catering the races – and everything else. The stakes are huge, and everyone knows it."

Everyone but me, it seemed. "So what's the big deal? If they've been to one of your functions and know you can handle the pressure, shouldn't it be a pretty easy sell?"

"It's not that simple." Sam leaned his chair back and grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator, handing one to me. "Being the sole caterer for the Indianapolis Motor Speedway would be huge. You have the Indy 500, of course, but there's also the Brickyard 400 and the Red Bull motorcycle race. The last two races only bring in crowds for the weekend of the race, which is still a pretty big deal, but the 500 – well, that would be huge. We'd be catering parties like mad from the minute they open the track doors for practices the first part of May all the way through Memorial Day weekend, maybe even longer if the race gets rained out."

I remembered all the people scurrying around for the Delanco party. "Do you have enough employees to do all those events?"

Sam rubbed his hand over his face and frowned. "That's just it; I don't think so. We have several kitchen trucks, and we have arrangements with a few area hotels to keep their people on standby should we need them, but the track's big. It would take a lot of planning, and more than one back-up plan, to get it right."

No wonder Mr. Selman was so freaked. "But he still wants to do it," I said, thinking of the maniacal sound in his voice when he'd called me about his suit.

Sam buried his face in his hands. "It's an obsession with him," he mumbled through his fingers. "It doesn't help that David thinks it's a great idea, which makes it even harder for me to get a word in edgewise when they start rhapsodizing about the money they could be bringing in. And the prestige."

"I take it you don't agree with the idea."

When Sam's face emerged from his hands his expression was grim. "Not right now, no. If I could only convince him to wait a few more years, plan ahead a little, that might be different. But we're just not ready now." He sighed again and shook his head. "Enough about business. I didn't come down here to whine about my work problems. I was hoping you'd still be interested in – "

"Hey, Katie." Hannah breezed in, clipboard in hand. She had a pen stuck behind each ear. With her hair tied back it made her look like a pointy-eared rabbit – or a very confused Pippi Longstocking. "How's it going?"

I smiled weakly at Sam before answering. "Great. A little freaked by what Sam's been telling me about the tour tomorrow, but I'll try to stay out of the way and not cause any problems."

She laughed and grabbed a sandwich from the stack Andre had placed on the table. "I'm just glad I don't have to go with the rest of you. I don't have time to chat, but I thought I'd see if you still wanted to do dinner Sunday. I wouldn't mind going out if you don't feel like cooking."

Sam sat up straight in his chair. Hannah must not have told him that we were going to do our little 'get to know you' thing at my house this weekend. "Sure, I don't mind," I said easily. "Come by any time you want. Oliver may be there, but you can ignore him if you want."

Grinning, she disappeared into one of the pantries for a bag of pretzels. "I'd love to meet your brother," she told me. "He can't be as bad as the two I've got. I'll call you before I leave the house Sunday. I promise." She directed the last two words at Sam, who flushed slightly. She just laughed and poked him in the arm. "I'll see both of you later."

Sam finished his sandwich and drank half his water before he said anything. "So you're making my sister dinner in a couple of days."

"Yeah, we got to talking the other day and I thought it would be fun to have a girls' night in." And I wanted to show Oliver that there were good-looking, single women out there that understood about the demands of work and school, I added silently. Not that I was match-making or anything . . .

"Sounds like fun. I guess I'll have to wait for Hannah's report on your cooking skills. But if you make her chocolate chip cookies you'd better save a few for me."

I rolled my eyes. "Somehow I think I can do her a little better than that. But if you're lucky, I might bring you your own plate Monday morning."

Sam's eyes lit up. "Really? Let's hope I get lucky then." His eyes widening, he opened and closed his mouth in a panicked sort of way. "That's not what I meant. Really. I meant about the – "

Deciding to put him out of his misery, I smirked and laid a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Sam. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

Sam stared at my hand for a long second -- long enough to make me very self-conscious. When I pulled it back again he cleared his throat. "Since I'm feeling so lucky, then, what would you say about rescheduling our lunch? I checked Dad's schedule and I know he'll be playing golf all day Tuesday. Why don't we do it then? I think I can convince him that you won't need to see another round of humiliation."

Hey, any excuse to miss a round of golf with Mr. Selman was a good one, and the fact that I'd be out with Sam made it even sweeter. "You're on," I said happily, picking up his discarded napkin (beautifully folded into the shape of a flower) and wiping down the table. "Just not at the restaurant you picked last time. I don't think I could show my face there again without dying of embarrassment."

Sam smiled a little at that. "It's a deal." Then he smiled. "And since you'll be getting acquainted with Hannah before then, I might just leave her at the office."

Now whose day was turning out to be so lucky? Elizabeth Bennet, eat your heart out.

***

Mr. Selman had given me a list of people who'd be attending the tour, so when I got to the Hall of Fame Museum the next morning I stood outside and checked people off my list. Mr. Selman arrived five minutes early in a rare sign of punctuality.

"Good morning, sir," I told him. He just grunted and looked around.

"Where's my son?"

"Which one, sir?"

Mr. Selman shot a disbelieving look in my direction. Well, really. The man had two sons, both of whom worked for him. "David, of course."

Of course. I was starting to think that Sam didn't get taken very seriously. I made a pretense of checking my list, even though I already knew David wasn't there yet.

"Never mind," he snapped. "When he shows up tell him to come directly to me. The show's about to start."

The man used the strangest allusions. "Yes, sir."

David breezed in five minutes late and was obviously annoyed to see me waiting for him. "Your father's inside already," I told him, wasting no time on pleasantries. "You'd better get in there."

He scowled but strode quickly inside. Our group was the first of the day, and Mr. Selman was busy talking to the speedway's director. "Miss Embury, there you are," he called, a trace of impatience in his voice. "Come here. This is Mark Anderson."

Mark Anderson, Mark Anderson . . . With sudden clarity I remembered Josh telling me about his boss. This must be the guy.

I'd asked Jessica, very casually the night before while she was waiting for Oliver to change clothes, what Josh was doing today. She'd just shrugged and said something vague about some personal business. So what was he doing here, standing behind this Anderson guy and leering at me?

"Hello, Katie," he said, looking extremely self-satisfied. "What a pleasure to see you here. It would only be polite to introduce me to your boss since you know mine."

I couldn't see how he could look so smug while dressed head to toe plaid with a huge bow tie nestled under his chin. Didn't the museum have a dress code? Josh looked like a reincarnated Paul Simon, minus the glasses. It was so hard not to roll my eyes that they bugged out. "Mr. Selman, this is Josh Haskins. His sister lives down the street from me. Josh, Peter Selman."

The two shook hands and I backed away slightly, hoping against all hope that Josh wouldn't be the one leading our ninety-minute tour. That hope was dashed when Josh strode to the front of the room. Mr. Selman hung back to talk to Mr. Anderson as Josh started expounding on the speedway's history. I grabbed a pamphlet from the front desk and wasn't surprised to be able to read along with him. Maybe the real reason he'd been kicked out of school was because he'd spent so much time memorizing this little pamphlet that he hadn't had any left for studying his coursework. I stuck it to my clipboard and tried to look like I was paying attention.

"Did you know he'd be here?"

Sam, who'd been chatting while I introduced my stalker to my employer, had sidled up next to me.

"Do you think I'd be here if I did?"

A corner of Sam's mouth twitched slightly. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "It seems like you held your own the last time you saw him."

I grimaced. "I guess. You should be paying attention."

Raising his eyebrows, he put his hands behind his back, looking for all the world like he was listening to one of the most engrossing speeches he'd ever heard. "Shouldn't you?"

I grabbed another pamphlet and handed it to him. "I think I've got this part of the tour covered."

Josh finally stopped his droning and ushered us out of the building and to a tour bus that, he said proudly, would take us on the most exciting part of the tour.

"Katie, I'd appreciate it if you paid more attention," Josh told me as I walked past him. "This information is very important."

Why, was there a quiz at the end of the day? "I've been taking notes," I said sweetly. Well, it was kind of true.

Sam just smiled. "Nice tour." He walked over to where his father was standing with David, leaving a disgruntled Josh to climb on the bus by himself.

The guy Sam'd been talking to earlier slid into the seat beside me. "Are you Peter's p.a.?" he asked, shaking my hand. "I'm Frank Chance. I spoke with you on the phone last week."

I thought that guy's voice sounded familiar. "Yes, I'm Katie," I said, glad to have an excuse to tune out our tour guide. "Thank you for helping me set this up. I know the IMS doesn't usually give personal tours."

Frank laughed. "You sound so official. Most people have to spell it out and say the 'Indianapolis Motor Speedway'. Maybe we should look into luring you away from the catering business."

Sam coughed loudly from the seat behind us. I hadn't noticed him walk past. Frank glanced back and turned serious. "Mr. Selman," he said. "I didn't realize you were here."

"So I saw. If you have a few minutes, I have some questions for you about catering at the track."

That must be my cue to get down to business. I went to pull my pen from the clipboard, but it'd disappeared. I glanced back at Sam for help, but before I could say anything Frank had produced one with the speedway's logo on it. "Here, take this one. It'll be a good memento of the tour."

Sam's eyes narrowed but he started his questioning. Within minutes I'd taken several pages of notes, and it just kept going. I learned that the track had their own security team, that there was a catering fee to work a party (Sam snorted at this and mumbled 'entry fee' under his breath, but Frank pretended he didn't hear that) and that the museum itself rarely hosted outside events.

"Why's that?" I asked. It seemed like the perfect place for a party if you were a racing geek.

Frank settled himself more comfortably in his seat. "To have enough room for tables we have to move some of the cars," he explained. "That's quite the undertaking. And if someone were to inadvertently damage one of them . . . well, some of those cars are irreplaceable. And expensive."

"That makes sense." I scribbled notes as he spoke. Sam leaned over the back of my chair and peered at my clipboard.

"I hope you can decipher that." His tone was serious, but he pursed his lips like he was trying not to laugh.

I offered Frank his pen when the bus stopped, but his shook his head and smiled. "Go ahead and keep it," he told me. "Chances are, even if you don't get the contract you want, you'll end up with a lot of stuff with the track's logo on it. It seems fitting that you get your first from me."

Sam snorted again. "What he means is that Peter's Perfect Catering will be purchasing a lot of these things, not only with the track's logo but the ones for each of the races. By the time the year is out we may have to add another building just to house it all."

The bus was almost empty – no doubt people were scrambling to get away from Josh's voice. "Miss Embury!" I heard over the sound of feet thumping down the stairs. "Where are you?"

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said with a sigh. "It seems my boss has just remembered that I'm here."

Mr. Selman was waiting for me when I got off the bus. "There you are, Miss Embury," he said in a tone so jovial I knew it was fake. I couldn't blame him; if I'd been forced to listen to an hour of Josh's droning I'd be aggravated too.

"Do you need something, sir?"

"Keep Mr. Haskins entertained for a few minutes. I have some things to discuss with Frank Chance." He hurried away without a backward glance.

Josh stood there, a smirk on his face. I glanced down at his tie and grinned. "Nice tie," I told him, crossing my fingers behind my back. "It's very retro."

He pulled at the ends of it. His eyes bulged slightly when it tightened around his neck but he managed to choke out, "What, this old thing?"

He did _not_ just say that. I watched in amusement as he stuck a finger into his collar and gasped for breath. As long as I didn't have to give him the Heimlich, this was worth every ounce of humiliation I'd suffered through at that stupid restaurant.

Josh finally got his windpipes adjusted and walked over to me. "I get to drive my Corvette on the track every so often," he told me proudly. I could almost hear his muscles flexing. "All the racers tell me I should have been a driver."

"I didn't know you were friends with any of the race car drivers. You'll have to tell Mr. Selman that. I'm sure he'd be interested in meeting them."

"Yeah, I'll have to do that. I saw Oliver and Jessica the other day. Did he tell you?"

I hadn't seen Oliver long enough to exchange more than three words with him in days. "No, he didn't. He's been pretty busy."

Josh nodded his head solemnly. "I know he feels terribly about that project, but he'd already made arrangements with Jessica and he just couldn't do both. I hope he didn't get in too much trouble with his professor."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I wasn't about to admit that. "I'm sure he'll be fine." If Oliver was skimping on his studies because of that flimsily dressed man hunter he needed an intervention – and fast.

"So how does a girl like you end up working for someone like Peter Selman?" Josh asked suddenly. "It's not like you're all that special. I bet he thought you were someone else."

I stared at him in disbelief, my mouth hanging slightly open. "For your information, I got the job because – "

"Because she was qualified," Sam interrupted. Where had he come from? He stood next to me and looked at Josh in contempt. "Is this how you treat all the people who come on your tour? If it is I might have to talk to Frank about this. I'm not sure I want my father's company associated with a rude, disrespectful organization."

Josh's face turned bright red. "I was only making a joke," he mumbled. "It's not like she doesn't know she has a famous name."

"I see." Sam's eyes didn't leave Josh's face. "Then I would suggest you refine your sense of humor. It needs some work."

This must be the sort of thing Mr. Darcy said to Lady Catherine when she tried to tell him not to marry Elizabeth. It was very gratifying to hear Sam defend me like this, but I would have enjoyed it a lot more had Josh not looked so . . so . . . stupid. I bet Elizabeth never had to deal with anything like that. Of course, she did have those flighty sisters . . .

Josh stared back at Sam for a long time before turning to me. "I believe you lost this earlier, Katie." He pulled the pen I'd been searching for earlier from inside his suit coat. "I almost forgot to give it back."

Just as I held out my hand for it, he stuck the end thoughtfully in his mouth and tapped his front teeth. "It's funny, isn't it?" he asked no one in particular. "You being fired from your job and all, and then landing a better one as the assistant to one of the most influential men in Indianapolis. You've come up in the world."

I was pretty sure that no matter how much he wished it, Mr. Selman wasn't 'one of the more influential men in Indianapolis', but Josh had proven himself to be delusional before. "I worked for my uncle, as you well know," I snapped. "He retired and closed down his business. If you can't keep your facts straight at least try to keep your mouth shut."

Josh just smirked again. Could a person really slap that look off a face? How hard would you have to hit? I wasn't even a violent person; should I be worried that I was thinking about things like this? "If you say so." Then he pulled the pen out of his mouth and tossed it to me. I watched it spiral through the air and reached out to catch it automatically, but the tip hit me squarely in the chest and left a long black line as it slid to the ground. I'd learned from past experience not to wear a white shirt to work; now I'd have to add yellow to the list. If this kept up much longer I wouldn't have anything left to wear, even with the added help of Bea's closet.

Sam coughed slightly as I bent down to pick it up, and I almost dropped it again when the slippery end touched the skin on my fingers. Serious once more, Sam grabbed it from me and tossed it onto the grass with a look of revulsion before wiping his fingers on his trousers.

"Littering, Mr. Selman? Manners, manners. You should know better than that." Then Josh turned and yelled at everyone to finish their picture-taking. It was time to resume the tour.

I scrubbed my hands in the bathroom when we got back to the museum and avoided Josh like the plague the rest of the day. When I finally got into my own car I leaned my head against the steering wheel with a mixture of frustration and relief.

I was starting to think Josh wasn't as dense as I'd previously thought. If he were stupid and obsequious, like a misplaced Mr. Collins, he'd be very easy to deal with. But a Mr. Collins with a brain? The thought was so ludicrous I almost laughed.

Almost. But not quite.

Author's note: Well, I hope Sam's explanation doesn't make you hate him too badly! Please remember that he's only human.

Tremendous thanks go to CJ for helping with the technicalities of this chapter; if there's any confusion it's my own fault for not taking good enough notes. And, as always, much gratitude to Linnea for beta-ing chapters that I'd send to her on the weekends.

You know I love a review, so be sure to leave me one!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I didn't see Oliver until Sunday afternoon. He trudged in through the garage just after Hannah had called to say she was on her way.

"Are you cooking?"

That seemed fairly obvious, since my head was stuck halfway into the oven. "No, I'm washing an elephant. Of course I'm cooking." I straightened up and closed the door. Everything was right on schedule. "Are you sticking around for dinner? If you are, go wash up. I have a friend coming in twenty minutes."

Oliver looked faintly surprised but disappeared down the hall. When he came back a few minutes later to help me carry the plates outside, he'd combed his hair (the only way I could tell was that it was wet, but hey, he gets an 'A' for effort) and changed his shirt.

"You didn't have to change," I told him as I started laying out the silverware.

"I don't want to scare away your boss' son."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Like I'd ever bring a boy home to meet you. You're worse than Dad. For your information, my friend's name is Hannah."

Oliver didn't say anything, but he looked a little relieved and wandered back into the house after me.

"Speaking of friends, how are things going with Jessica?" I asked, wondering if he'd bring up his missed project on his own.

He made a face, which he quickly suppressed. "Couldn't be better," he said with false cheerfulness. "I understand you ran into Josh yesterday at the track. He was very glad to have you on his tour."

I'll bet he was. "Yeah, I was there for work. Josh is a little . . . " I glanced at the oven timer. Three more minutes.

"A little what?"

How was the best way to answer that question? Delusional? Psycho? I decided to play it safe and could hear Josie tsk-ing in my head. "Confused. He seemed to think you skipped out on a school project because of Jessica."

Oliver turned away, suddenly very interested in the pantry's contents. "I told him that couldn't possibly be true," I said to his back. "I mean, school's more important to you than a nice pair of legs, right?"

"Of course." He didn't sound as sure of his answer as I would have liked, but when he turned around his face was serious. "I just . . . I don't know."

"You know, she didn't pass Mr. P's test."

"And what test was that?" Oliver soundly reluctantly interested.

Mr. Poppikins was lounging on the floor in a sunny spot, looking for all the world like the best-behaved dog that ever graced the earth. I studied him for a second, and I swore he winked at me. I blinked back at him, sure my imagination was acting up again.

"The first time she came over here she made herself right at home. She ate my ice cream while I was in the shower, and then had the bad manners to prop her feet on Bea's coffee table. Mr. P didn't like that, so he got her wedged between the chair and the table. He seemed very pleased with himself." "

The edges of Oliver's mouth twitched. "And what did he do when he met Josh?"

"He hasn't met him, nor is he likely to. He does like the Fredericks down the street, although that could be because their daughter will soon be old enough to throw food on the floor."

The doorbell interrupted our conversation and Mr. P got to his feet, staring expectantly at Oliver. He shrugged at me and went to get it, Mr. P right behind him. I laughed and took the chicken out of the oven. Maybe the real matchmaker in the house wasn't me after all. If only Mr. P could figure out a way to get Jessica to sling her mud-bathed hair in someone else's direction long enough for Oliver to clear his brain . . .

Hannah's clear voice preceded her into the kitchen. "I love this house," she said. "It's so open and bright, even from the outside."

"Your talents are wasted in catering," I told her as I gave her a one-armed hug. "I think your true calling is in politics. What you really mean is that it's very yellow." She laughed and handed me the hand-tied bouquet of yellow and white daisies she was carrying.

"Sam said I should bring these. He seemed to believe yellow was your color, and I can see why he might think that."

I shook my head again (I was starting to feel a bit like a bobble-head doll) and glanced at Oliver, who was standing in the doorway watching us. "I don't know where Sam would have got that idea as he's never been to the house before. I hope you don't mind that Oliver's crashing our dinner," I added, standing on my toes to reach a vase. "He seems to think he should eat when he gets hungry."

Reaching over my head, Oliver grinned at me. "How could I resist? Good food, beautiful company, and all I have to do is show up."

Hannah lifted that eyebrow of hers. "Spoken like a true male. Tell me, are you always this charming or it is only when there's food involved?"

Oliver's grin broadened. "I'll leave that for you to decide, ma'am. May I escort you to your seat?"

Dost mine ears deceive me? Had the old Oliver – the one that liked to joke around and have fun, the one that women adored for his charm and honesty – finally returned from his Jessica-induced coma? I didn't know if I dared to hope. He offered Hannah his arm with an overdone flourish and led her, laughing, outside to the table where Mr. P was staring dolefully at the three place settings.

"You're not invited," I said severely, pushing his head away. "You know the rule. You can only eat people food if it falls on the ground."

Mr. P heaved a great sigh and plopped himself down next to Hannah. When she reached down to scratch him behind the ears he leaned his head against her foot and gazed up at her adoringly.

I caught Oliver's eye and cocked my head pointedly at Hannah's feet. He dropped his fork in an obvious way, and when he resurfaced his expression was thoughtful. "I'll be right back," he announced to no one in particular, and headed back into the house to exchange his fork.

Hannah watched him go. "Your brother's very nice," she commented as I handed her the carrots. "Has he lived here very long?"

"No, we moved in about the same time. He's going to Butler to get his MBA right now."

Hannah looked back at the house thoughtfully. "Really? What does he want to do when he's done?"

I hadn't told Jessica about Oliver's non-profit goals, but for some reason the words just came out for Hannah. "He wants to work for a non-profit. I don't know that he's decided which one, though."

Hannah's expression changed. I almost thought she seemed wistful. "Really? At one point I thought about doing something similar, but Dad would only pay for my education if I agreed to work for him, so here I am." Her eyes were distant for a few seconds before she turned back to me. "This is delicious, Katie," she said after she resumed eating. "Sam will be so disappointed he didn't get invited, too."

I smiled involuntarily at the mention of his name, and Hannah laughed. "I can call him and tell him to come on over if you want," she said, traces of laughter in her voice. "I know he wouldn't mind."

"No, no, I asked you here to get to know you better," I protested. Oliver slid into his seat, and he smiled at her. "All right, Hannah," I said, breaking my roll in half (I'd bargained with Junie for them; all I had to do was watch Addy for an evening, and really, how hard could that be?), "we planned this dinner to get to know each other better. So start talking."

Hannah laughed at that. "You can be very direct when you want something." Her eyes crinkled cutely when she smiled, and I hoped Oliver was noticing. Oh, crap. I was turning into Mrs. Bennet without even trying. Again. This was starting to feel like a horrible pattern.

"That she can." The more Hannah laughed, the more Oliver's attention wandered from his dinner. I would have said that was a good sign but I was changing my evil, Mrs. Bennet-ish ways. I hoped it wasn't too late.

I looked at Oliver pointedly and he resumed eating. Hannah smiled at him and he almost dropped his fork again. "As you already know, there are three kids in my family. David's the oldest, then comes me, and Sam's the baby."

'Baby' was not the word I'd use to describe Sam, but sisters have a different point of view. I should know. "Did you grow up in Indianapolis?"

Hannah shook her head. "We actually grew up in Brown County," she said. "My mom moved to Carmel after the divorce, and Dad followed a year or two later when he expanded the business." Noting my blank stare, she went on. "Brown County is an hour and a half south of here. Very touristy, but beautiful. Dad still has the house in Nashville, but we don't go down very often." The wistful expression flickered across her face again.

"I've been down there before," Oliver said around a mouthful of roll. "In the fall, when the trees have turned and the smell of burning leaves fills the air, it's positively entrancing."

I turned to gape at my brother, but he didn't notice because his eyes were fixed on Hannah. I almost reached over and hugged her right then and there. If only he could be like this all the time instead of lapsing into his Jessica-inspired Neanderthal state. This was the second time I'd compared someone to a Neanderthal man in just a few weeks' time. Maybe that said something about me.

After a long moment of silence in which I didn't dare look at either of them, Hannah cleared her throat and continued. "I went to Indiana University and got a degree in accounting, went to work for my dad, and here I am, having dinner at his assistant's house. It's very strange," she added, turning an amused face to me. "None of Dad's personal assistants ever gave me the time of day before. Most of them were too busy making eyes at David to notice me."

I frowned slightly. "That sounds about right," I remarked, remembering his words on the golf course. "He seemed to find all my predecessors very friendly."

Hannah's mouth puckered like she'd just tasted something very sour. "Yeah, well, David should have gotten a degree in charming young women on the job."

Tell me something I hadn't already figured out myself. "He seems very proud of his abilities. I'm surprised he gave up with me as fast as he did."

Two pairs of eyes stared at me, and then two voices spoke at the same time.

"You didn't tell me the boss's son was a player."

"Has David been bothering you?"

It was hard not to laugh at them, but their serious expressions (for different reasons) stopped me. "The boss's son I've told you about," I said to Oliver, sending a sidelong glance in Hannah's direction, "isn't the one we're talking about. Hannah has two brothers, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Hannah was still staring at me. "What?" I asked.

She shook her head in disbelief. "I thought Sam told David to back off," she mused. I don't think she knew she was saying that out loud.

"Is that what happened?" Thank goodness. That day on the golf course I'd thought I'd done something to tick the guy off. Not that I minded all that much, but he _was_ the boss's son . . . "He spoke to me when we went golfing with your dad, but after that I haven't seen a whole lot of him. That was sweet of Sam to look out for me, but David wasn't that – " I stopped talking before I could say "bad". David _had_ been a little too smooth, and I couldn't honestly say I was heartbroken that he'd left me alone.

"Is that what you think?" Now Hannah's voice was tinged with amusement. "Well, Sam is a very sweet brother. I imagine he'll make someone a great boyfriend."

I sat there for a second, imagining Sam and I walking together along the Monon Trail (without Mr. P) and holding hands. "Yes, I imagine he would," I said dreamily.

Oliver coughed and got to his feet. "Are you two ladies finished? If you are, I'll take these inside and start washing up."

Hannah grinned at me, her eyes dancing with delight. "I like your brother," she announced, tilting her head and glancing up at him. "It's not many men that would wash dished voluntarily while his sister sat back and relaxed."

Oliver flushed, but he started stacking plates anyway. "I wish I could say it was out of the goodness of my heart, but I lost a bet a little while ago and it's about time I paid up."

Winking at Hannah, I handed Oliver my silverware. "I'll let Oliver tell you about it later," I said. "Do you want dessert now, or would you like to go on a treasure hunt? My Aunt Bea left all sorts of interesting things in the basement."

Hannah stood up and followed my brother into the kitchen. "A treasure hunt? That sounds so fun. Besides, we wouldn't want to have dessert without Oliver."

Oliver leaned against the wall in the kitchen and watched us go downstairs before he got to work. And from the look on his face, I didn't think it'd be very long before he finished. After all, who can resist good food and beautiful company? With any luck I wouldn't have to worry about Jessica the man-hunter much longer.

***

Josie called me on the way home from work the next day. "Hey, I got my progress report today," she announced when I answered the phone. "Have you planned anything with a hot boy for me?"

I hadn't actually forgotten that I'd told her she could come, I just hadn't remembered that it was time for fall break. "How were your grades?"

I could hear shuffling papers before she spoke again. "I'm getting two As and three Bs. So what are we gonna do while I'm there?"

I turned the corner one-handed and tried to think fast. "I don't know off the top of my head," I admitted. "But I'll think of something. When exactly did you want to come visit?"

"This weekend, silly. Mom's been driving me crazy. If I have to go shopping one more time with her I think I'll break my leg on purpose so I can get out of it."

Unfortunately, I knew exactly how she felt. "What time can you be here?"

"What time do you get off work?"

I laughed as I pulled into the garage. "Let me look at my schedule tomorrow and I'll call Dad. Think of things you want to do. I don't know any fourteen-year-old boys, though."

Josie made a huffing sound. "Like I want to go out with immature boys. Older is fine. I'd better go start packing. Love you, Katie!"

Josie hadn't said those words since she'd entered the wretched world of puberty. It was funny what a little distance could do to a person.

I was trying to come up with activities that would be fun for my little sister when I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. There, sitting around the table like they were having a high-powered meeting, (and if it didn't seem like they were lying in wait for me I'd think they were discussing world peace – or at least the state of her hair) were Oliver, Jessica, and Josh.

I considered backing out quietly and crashing at the Fredericks' until everyone had gone home but Jessica spotted me and bounded from her chair.

"Katie! Darling! It's been so long since I've seen you. Come here, have a seat."

She pushed me into the chair she'd just vacated and perched her bony little bottom on the edge of Oliver's. He pretended not to care.

"What's going on?" I looked at them all, trying to decipher their expressions. I knew I should have attended more of those psychology classes. Who knew that skipping class would come back to bite me? All I could tell was that they looked like the proverbial cat that had cornered the mouse. I didn't really like mice, but right then I felt a strange sort of empathy toward them.

"Nothing," Jessica sing-songed. "We were just talking about going on a day trip on Tuesday. Want to come? It'd be so much more fun if you do."

Since when did Oliver have time to go on day-long outings? I raised my eyebrows at him, but he just shrugged and looked away. "I have to work," I said slowly, knowing that with Oliver's silent refusal to let me off the hook I didn't have any allies. It seemed I had more to look forward to tomorrow than a lunch date with Sam. I'd have to remember to thank him for saving me from a day with the Haskins.

"Oh, work. Surely you can get a day off every now and then. I mean, from what Josh tells me your boss is a very reasonable man." Jessica leaned a little closer to Oliver. If that was even possible.

I thought about those four personal assistants that had preceded me and winced. "He's nice when it suits him, and he gave me a day off not too long ago." I glanced at Josh, and the man had the audacity to smirk at me. No doubt he was remembering our 'accidental' meeting in Broad Ripple.

"Yeah, Katie," he drawled, stretching out his arm so it could rest on the back of my chair. "Come with us. It'll be fun; kind of like a double date."

All right, I knew for a fact that I'd left no confusion the last time we'd spoken, and while I appreciated that the man wasn't a jellyfish, his persistence was getting old really fast.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I told him, scooting my chair away from him. His arm fell uselessly to his side, and he yawned and stretched like that was what he'd meant to do all along. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm busy. All week. And anyway, I wouldn't want to irritate Mr. Selman until he's decided I'm indispensable." I tried to smile sweetly at Josh, hoping he'd fall into his Selman-worship, but the smile felt tight.

"What are you doing Tuesday that's so important?"

I looked at Oliver in surprise. He knew how I felt about the Haskins -- well, maybe not Jessica, as I'd not exactly told him I thought she was no good -- but I couldn't understand why he thought the whole 'double date' thing was even remotely possible.

"I have a previous engagement that can't be broken." My voice had enough exasperation in it to make Oliver raise his head and look at me properly for the first time since I'd walked in the door. "And no, I will not try to change them just because the three of you have cooked up some scheme. Either go by yourselves or find someone else to drag along with you."

Jessica's outraged squawk followed me down the hall, with Oliver himself hard on its heels. "Where are you getting this attitude from?" he demanded when we were safely in my room. "You were the perfect hostess yesterday when Hannah was here. Have your people skills completely left you?"

"You're a fine one to talk," I snapped, throwing my shoes into the closet with a thud. "Last night you were back to being the fun-loving, charming brother that existed in Vincennes. Now you're back to the sour, selfish and immature Butler student. Maybe you should go back home. It seems the neighbors aren't doing you any favors."

Oliver paused for a second. He looked confused for just a moment before he focused on me again, with a little less frustration in his voice. "There's nothing wrong with Jessica, or Josh, for that matter. Just because you have some fancy job at a high-falutin' catering company doesn't give you the right to start judging people."

"Have you gone mad?" I could hardly believe my ears. "The only personal assistant who has any right to behave the way you're accusing me of is the one that works for the President of the United States, and even then I don't know. I told you I didn't want to see Josh again. Yet here you are, just waiting for me to come in so you can guilt me into yet another outing with the man – and he may not even show up!"

"Josh apologized."

I snorted in disgust. "Sure he did. And then he tried to crash my lunch with Sam. Twice. He knows I want him to leave me alone. There's no way in this world he couldn't know that. And just by being here he proves that he's a creep, a jerk, and a stalker, and if Mom knew I was even in the same house as him she'd have a fit."

"Leave Mom out of this."

"Then get rid of Josh! And while you're at it, throw Jessica out, too. She's as bad for you as Josh is for the rest of humanity."

Oliver stood there in indecision for half a minute before he heard Jessica call his name through the closed door. Then he stretched himself to his full height (which was much more impressive than when Josh tried the same trick) and reached for the door. "Don't say another word," he said, his knuckles white around the doorknob. I wasn't sure if he was upset that we'd argued for the first time in years, or that I'd said something against his precious Jessica. "I don't want to say something I might regret later."

Then he was gone. A few seconds later I heard the three of them walk down the hallway, followed almost immediately by Jessica screeching so loud I was sure the Fredericks could hear her. "That dog! Get my purse out of its mouth! Oh, Oliver, it growled at me! Please, get it away from me – and save my poor little bag!"

I sat on my bed in the middle of my room, listening as Oliver dragged Mr. P outside, saying all sorts of mean things in the process. Then he came back in, soothed his hysterical girlfriend by promising to replace her ruined purse, and left the house. I waited until I'd heard Josh's car rattle to life and fade down the street before I went in search of Mr. P.

He was lying in the middle of the backyard, Jessica's purse still clutched tightly in his jaws. He appeared to enjoy chewing it to bits. I sank down beside him and hugged his big red head.

"You are amazing, Mr. Poppikins." I sniffed and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. "I don't care what Oliver says, you're the best dog anyone could ever have. You have my permission to eat anything those people bring into this house."

I buried my face in his sun-warmed fur and breathed in deeply. Not such a good idea; he might be the world's most understanding dog, but he was still a dog – and smelled like one. I'd have to remember to tell Oliver to give him a bath.

The only problem with that was that I wasn't sure I wanted to speak to Oliver. He'd said such horrible things, about judging and changing. I may have grown a little more confident since moving to Indianapolis, and maybe I was less likely to let myself be pushed around, but still. I wasn't the one with the personality change. If only Hannah had been the one living down the street instead of Jessica. Then none of this would have ever happened.

Mr. P snuffled loudly and finally opened his mouth wide enough for the battered (and by this point almost unrecognizable) purse to fall onto my lap. It was almost like he was bringing me a present and expected a reward for doing such a splendid job.

That night, Mr. P and I ate dinner together in the sunroom. We watched _All Dogs Go To Heaven_.

***

There was a sticky note on my computer when I got to work the next morning with the words 'change tape' scrawled across it. I groaned, but after allowing myself only a second of self-pity I got back to my feet and walked around my desk. At least Mr. Selman hadn't asked me to do something technical on a day he was actually there. This way there'd be no witnesses if I managed to burn the place down.

I'd discovered a little drawer under my desk a few days into my employment with Mr. Selman, and it had been a godsend. Some poor p.a. had obviously had a hard time keeping track of things, so to make her life easier she'd kept detailed descriptions of all the boss's contacts. And, to my great joy, she'd included instructions on how to fix, change, and replenish practically anything in the world. Well, maybe not that much. But everything I needed help with, for sure.

Sure enough, there was a small section on 'changing tape'. It didn't say what the tape was for, but heck, my instructions didn't say to analyze the thing. It just said to change it.

Between answering the phone and scheduling meetings, I spent all morning in Mr. Selman's office. The little box under the picture by his desk (how terribly Victorian of him to have a secret compartment!) was easy to find, thanks to my directions, and I even managed to switch out the cassette, but the only thing I couldn't figure out was how to reset the thing. There was a switch on the side that said 'tape in' on the top and 'tape out' on the bottom, but it didn't make any sense. Since I'd just put the tape inside, wasn't that where the little lever should point? And shouldn't the machine know by itself that the tape was already inside?

In the end I decided to switch it to the 'in' side. The worst that could happen was that the machine would be double-sure it knew what it was doing. I thought.

I'd just pushed the picture back in place when Andre knocked on the door. "Katie, I've been looking all over for you," he exclaimed, dusting his floury hands on his apron. "I've heard strange things about you through the catering grapevine."

"Really?" I flipped the blinds open to let in some sunlight. Between Sam's window-less office and Mr. Selman's apparent distaste for sun, I was beginning to think the Selman men were afraid of the light. Either that or they were all a bunch of vampires.

"Yeah, several people have been coming into my kitchen looking for some special cookie. Do you know what they're talking about?"

I could tell by the way he said this that Andre was just a little miffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said airily, running my fingers through my hair. Sam was supposed to be here any minute, and I hadn't had time to check myself out in the mirror. Andre let me go past him, but he stared at me from Mr. Selman's doorway as I pulled my brush from its drawer and undid the clip holding my hair back. It promptly fell under the desk. "I might have made a few cookies recently," I conceded when his eyes got a hangdog look to them. "Why? Has anyone contracted food poisoning?"

Andre shook his finger at me. "No, of course not. They all want to know where I'm keeping my secret stash. And since I can't be out-baked on my own turf, I'm here to lull you into a false sense of security so you'll give me the recipe."

"I didn't know chocolate chip cookies warranted all this fuss," I told him, bending over to grab the barrette. "I tend to give them only to people I like. So if Agnes wants some, you have to promise to tell her no or I won't give it to you."

"I second that."

I jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, hitting my head on the underside of the desk so hard I saw stars. Would it kill the man to make a little noise when he walked around?

"Are you okay?"

Sam squatted down next to me, his face grave. When I looked at him closer his lips were twitching.

"I'm fine, thank you." I tried not to wince as he reached out and started to rub the back of my head. Under normal circumstances I'd be in heaven that Sam was doing that, but I'd hit it harder than I thought. His fingers were gentle, though, and I started to feel a little light-headed – no doubt from the lump that was forming under his fingertips. I mumbled, rather incoherently, "I was just about to give Andre my cookie recipe."

Sam must have forgotten that we weren't exactly alone because he blinked at me a few times before pulling his hand reluctantly out of my hair. He swallowed and straightened up, nodding at the chef, who was eyeing him curiously. "I see you've been getting more requests," Sam said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I don't know if I'd keep the pantry stocked with them, though. My father may never leave your kitchen again."

Andre frowned. "You might be right," he said slowly. "Maybe I'll have to rethink this. It's been so nice and quiet here since Katie came to work." He was still muttering to himself as he headed back to his ovens.

Sam's expression as he watched Andre disappear was thoughtful. "What?" I asked, rummaging around for my purse.

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

"Looking for my purse."

"Why do girls always carry those things?" he asked, half to himself. "What can you possibly need to take with you everywhere?"

"Well, I have my keys – "

"Which you don't need right now since I'm driving – "

"And my wallet – "

"Which you also don't need, because I asked you out so I'm paying – "

"And my cell phone – "

"You have a pocket in your jacket, I trust, and anyway, you're on your lunch break – "

"And my book – "

"You'll be too busy to read – "

"And my lipstick."

That finally stymied him. His eyes strayed to my lips before he moved around me. "I still don't think you need that thing," he said, handing me my jacket. The phone rang as I slid my arms into the sleeves, and he grabbed my hand before I could reach for it. "Don't answer it," he whispered, pulling me toward the exit with him. "You're not available for the next – " he checked his watch – "two hours."

"Two hours? I'll get in trouble if I'm gone that – "

By this time we were outside, and Sam stopped abruptly. I noticed he didn't take his hand out of mine. "Katie, you're not going to get fired because you had a long lunch with me. After all, I'm the boss's son, remember?"

"That's not why I'm going with you." I said the words so fast that he grinned at me.

"I know you aren't," he said in a gentler voice. "That's why I asked you to come."

We were in his car, driving down the road, before I realized that I'd left my purse at the office.

***

Sam took me to the Indianapolis City Market, a large brick building that housed stall owners selling all sort of things – from flowers and cookies to fresh produce and sandwiches. We wandered up and down the aisles, looking at everything and trying to decide what to eat for lunch. Sam kept his hand on the small of my back, which made it hard for me to focus. He must have sensed something, because he kept glancing down at me.

As we were leaving Sam disappeared, coming back a minute or two later with a small bundle of pink flowers. He handed it to me and ushered me outside.

"What're these for?"

He regarded me with surprise. "For you, of course."

I could feel my cheeks getting warm, so I buried my face in the flowers. "Any reason why?" I asked, peeking up at him from behind a sweet pea.

He opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again, as though he'd changed his mind about what he was going to say. "Just because." Then, his voice brisker, he asked, "Would you mind if we ate our lunch behind the catering company again? I'll have my spies out this time to get rid of any unwanted guests."

I smiled up at him, glad he could laugh about that horrible episode. "Sounds good to me."

When we got back Sam drove around the side of the building and parked his car at the edge of the parking lot by the pond. If I didn't know any better I'd swear he did it on purpose. I just couldn't get the picture of a white-shirted, wet Mr. Darcy out of my head. Serves me right for watching _Pride and Prejudice_ the night before seeing Sam. And I thought I wasn't thinking clearly before . . .

Sam had a blanket spread out on the grass before I'd managed to shake Mr. Darcy from my mind, and when he pulled out a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ from his jacket pocket I almost choked on my sandwich. Was this guy for real? I didn't think I knew anyone with a Y chromosome that had voluntarily read the book, let alone admitted to it. Of course, I hadn't talked to too many guys in-depth enough to ask them about their reading preferences, but still. I had to be dreaming, right?

"Where did you get that?" I asked, feeling rather faint.

He grinned at me and tossed me the book. I caught it before it could knock my bottle of juice over. "Barnes and Noble, of course. After I met you on the trail and you gave such a glowing review, I felt I had to read it."

It was really too bad Oliver wasn't here to witness this. "So what did you think?"

Sam chewed thoughtfully before he answered. "I thought it was very interesting. For a woman who never married, Ms. Austen certainly had a lot to say on the subject."

"_Pride and Prejudice_ isn't about marriage."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "How can you say that?" he asked, ripping open a bag of chips and offering it to me. "That's all she talks about. She starts in the first sentence of the book and goes all the way through to the end."

"Well, marriage was an important thing for women back then. And if you're right, which I don't think you are, she shows that love is the only real foundation for a good relationship."

Sam leaned back on the blanket and rested his head on his hand. "Austen went to great lengths to show that society's accepted rules for courtship and matrimony weren't foolproof, but she never said the only way to do so is out of love. Look at Charlotte and this Collins fellow, for example. When Elizabeth goes to visit her friend she expects to find Charlotte miserable and wishing she could go back and change her mind. But, to her shock, she's happy – or at the very least, happier than she expected to be."

"But she isn't as happy as Lizzy and Darcy."

Sam snorted and threw his napkin at me. When I reached out to catch it, he grabbed my wrist and looked at me seriously. "I think the reason so many women love the book is because it's a bit of a fairy tale, like Cinderella. And all of you, in your heart of hearts, hope the same thing happens to you as it did to Elizabeth Bennet."

It was so strange, talking about Mr. Darcy to his look-alike, even if he was a younger, hipper version. I kept wanting to look around for the white rabbit and his pocket watch to see if I'd fallen down a hole to an alternate universe. "Well, Mr. Darcy _is_ pretty hot."

Sam let go of me and fell back on the blanket. He covered his eyes with his arm and laughed and laughed. "So this is what us poor blokes in reality have to contend against," he said when he'd got his breath back. "A handsome, Romantic hero with lots of money who has the guts to propose to a girl not once but twice. And he does all this while wearing a cravat and breeches."

I found this a little disturbing. "I happen to find a man in a cravat very appealing." As if that weren't downplaying the truth.

"That's because you've never had to wear one before." He laughed at the incredulous expression I was sure was on my face. "All right, all right." He held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Overall, the book was fascinating. I'd call you a modern-day Elizabeth Bennet, but you're too sweet."

I took that as a compliment. After all, he hadn't called me Lydia.

Yet.

Author's note: I'm sorry this is late; I have several good reasons but I won't bore you with the details (I'll just say I spent the week camping with 112 girls aged 12-18 and leave it at that.)

I hope you enjoyed Katie's first real date with Sam; you'll have to let me know what you think!

And I'd be terribly remiss if I didn't thank, once again, Linnea for her in-depth beta-ing (she even googled Brown County; how's that for dedication?) and CJ for his vast knowledge about catering. I owe you two!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

If you ignored his golf outing, Mr. Selman seldom strayed far from the office all week, and as the days went by with no word from the track his patience rapidly evaporated.

"Miss Embury! Come here!"

I sighed and rubbed my forehead for the fifth time that morning. It was Friday, my little sister was going to arrive on my doorstep at six (annoyingly on time; my parents were punctual to a fault), and if I had to call Frank Chance one more time I was going to scream.

"Yes, sir?" Mr. Selman's irritated face greeted me when I poked my head through the door.

"Get Frank Chance on the phone for me. I need to talk to him."

I counted to ten very slowly in my head before turning to leave. Just don't open your mouth, I told myself. If you keep it shut nothing incriminating can escape.

"When you're done with that you can go down to the kitchen and grab me a snack."

I just smiled and nodded. Andre would have to work overtime just to make up for all the desserts Mr. Selman was inhaling.

Knowing I might say something that could get me in trouble, I headed for Sam's office. There was a note in my binder that said the only 'safe' place in the building to speak openly was in Sam's little closet, although how the writer came to know that wasn't something I cared to focus on.

Sam wasn't there so I sprawled in his chair and dialed the track. I'd called Frank so many times over the past few days that I had his number memorized, and when he answered all I had to say was, "Hey, Frank" for him to know it was me on the other end.

"Katie! I was beginning to think you didn't care about me anymore. It's been a whole thirteen hours since I heard your lovely voice."

I smiled in spite of myself and tucked the phone under my chin. "Aw, Frank, you know that's not true. You're my new best friend."

He laughed and then groaned. "What does that boss of yours want now? Does he want you to go out to dinner with me? Because if that's what he wants, he's _my_ new best friend."

I snorted. "Very funny. No, I'm afraid he just wants to chat with you. Can't you let him come to the museum, look around for a while and drool over the cars? I'd be ever so grateful."

Frank's sigh was loud in my ear. "I'll see what I can do. But if he comes in, he might be insufferable when he gets back. All that pent-up anxiety and unfulfilled desire."

"He has enough anxiety already. Fine, don't invite him. But will you at least talk to the man? He's desperate." And so am I, I added silently.

He was quiet for a few seconds. "Okay. But for the record, you owe me one. I've talked to Mr. Selman three times this week already, and I still don't have anything to tell him. Buzz me over."

"You're a saint, Frank," I said gratefully. "Let me know when you want to cash in that favor."

He chuckled. "Oh, I will. Now send me off before I change my mind."

After I replaced the phone I leaned back in Sam's chair and closed my eyes. I knew Mr. Selman wanted to get going on his new business venture (if he got it) but it wasn't like there were any races at the track in the fall. He'd have nothing to plan until May – a good seven months away.

When I opened my eyes again, Sam was sitting across from me. His expression was unreadable. "I'm glad you like my office," he said drily. "But if you were hoping I'd switch with you, you're out of luck."

I resisted the urge to giggle. I mean, Elizabeth never _giggled_. She laughed. "I knew there was a reason you didn't mind holing up in a broom closet," I told him, getting out of his chair (which, I noticed, was very comfortable).

"Well, if I had a pretty assistant around to help me out, I might consider moving to a bigger office."

I glanced up at him, wondering what he was trying to say. Did he want a bigger office? "I kind of like this one," I said, gesturing vaguely around at the overflowing filing cabinet and cluttered desk. "It's cozy."

Sam's mouth twitched. "Cozy? Maybe I'll keep it, then. And anyway, it wouldn't be proper to date – "

I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he just looked up at the ceiling. Had he been talking about dating his personal assistant? Before my mind could go down that path he cleared his throat and slowly unfolded himself out of his seat.

"Where are you going next? Back to your desk?"

I wrinkled my nose at him. "No, to the kitchen."

Sam nodded in understanding. "I'd come with you, but I have a load of paperwork to go through before I can leave for the weekend. What time are you heading home tonight?"

"Five thirty at the latest, if Mr. Selman will let me escape."

He regarded me thoughtfully. "You could probably get going before then. Dad's schedule is clear all afternoon, so he shouldn't need you."

"Easy for you to say." I froze, my hands covering my mouth. I hadn't just insulted his father to his face, had I?

Sam smiled openly at that. "You're right," he said, laughing a little. "It _is_ easy for me to say. I'm not the one sitting outside his office all day. I'll come by around five and see if I can help you make your getaway."

"Thanks, Sam," I said gratefully. "You're a lifesaver."

"Does that mean _I'm_ your new best friend now instead of Chance?"

I blinked at him. Had he heard my conversation with Frank? "You've been my new best friend since you saved me from Mr. P," I finally said, wondering if he was jealous of Frank. Not that I like jealousy. The fact that I could inspire it was a little unnerving.

"So your reason for getting out of here by five thirty doesn't include dinner with Frank?"

Now, I know I'm a little dense when it comes to men, but even this made me perk up. "No, I'm not. Frank is . . . " How exactly did I explain my relationship with Frank Chance? We'd flirted over the phone for a week. That didn't mean anything, did it?

"Frank's what?" Sam's eyes were steady on mine.

I just shrugged and moved around the side of the desk. "He's my contact at the track. I've talked with him more times than I care to remember this week. Why do you ask?"

Sam's eyes finally slid away from mine. "Just asking. I'll see you before you leave."

Men were so weird. First Sam was all jealous, and when I told him there was nothing there he got all huffy and dismissed me from his office. What was up with him?

By five o'clock, though, I'd had time to settle down. Mr. Selman had left shortly after I'd brought him his snack (much to Andre's disgust, he hadn't even touched it) and the office had been strangely quiet all afternoon. I was starting to get my things together when Sam appeared in front of me.

"You weren't thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?"

I took a good look at him. He had on a different shirt, and his hair wasn't nearly as mussed as it'd been earlier in the afternoon. "I wasn't leaving yet," I told him. "Are you going somewhere tonight? You look . . . I don't know, more put together than you did before."

He grinned at me and flopped into my extra chair. "And what if I am? Are you curious?"

Like I'd admit that. "Not at all," I said as loftily as I knew how. "I was just making an observation, that's all."

Sam's expression softened a little. "I was actually hoping I could make plans with a certain personal assistant tonight," he said, watching me carefully. "What do you say? Would you like to go somewhere?"

Why was he always asking me out at the last minute? "I can't," I told him, regret coloring my words. "I already have plans."

"Oh." His disappointment was evident – even to me, and that's saying a lot.

"It's my little sister," I explained quickly, wondering as I said the words why I felt an explanation was even needed but knowing that it was. "My dad's dropping her at my house tonight at six, and then we're meeting Oliver on campus so he can show her around." I didn't mention that planning this little excursion had been the first time I'd spoken to my brother since our argument, and that it hadn't felt right.

Sam looked relieved. "Oh. Well, little sisters are pretty important, or so I've heard. How long is she going to be in town?"

"Dad's not coming to get her until Monday afternoon."

"That sounds fun." The disappointed look was back.

A sudden impulse shot through me, and before I could think, I blurted out, "Hey, we're taking her to the Children's Museum tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

Honestly, why would he want to hang out with me, my mentally altered brother, and my fourteen-year-old, boy-crazy sister? I was beginning to think my internal filter had been seriously misplaced.

But even as I was thinking these things Sam's face lit up. "Really? I haven't been there in years. It'd be fun. What time should I meet you?" He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and typed something in before looking at me expectantly.

"We were planning on being there around eleven or so. Josie's not really an early morning person. What are you doing with that thing? Are you typing yourself a note?"

He pressed a few more buttons before closing it. "Actually, I was. I don't want to forget."

I laughed. "Sam, it's tomorrow morning. Don't tell me you'll forget by then."

He stood up and looked down his nose at me. "Just because you have the memory of an elephant doesn't mean the rest of us do. Now, I'm going to grab my jacket before I walk you out to your car. Don't go anywhere until I get back." Then he sprinted down the hallway.

I shook my head over Sam and his old-fashioned manners and had turned around to put on my own jacket when a voice drawled behind me. "Well, well. If it isn't the famous Katie Embury."

I froze, hoping I hadn't just heard Josh's voice.

"Aren't you going to give me a proper hello?"

I turned slowly around, my jaw almost dropping to the floor when I saw Josh. He was covered from head to toe in Indy 500 insignias. He must have raided the aisles of the museum's gift shop before coming here.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, none too nicely.

"Good to see you, too." He ran his eyes over me and smirked. "The catering life really suits you, Katie. You're looking positively . . . appetizing." He laughed at his own joke.

Stifling the urge to gag, I stuck my other arm in its sleeve. "I'd take that as a compliment from almost anyone else. Really, what are you doing here? We don't throw any parties you'd be invited to."

"Miss Embury!" Mr. Selman's voice was unmistakably annoyed. "That's not the way we speak to our clients." He stared at me until I mumbled a very false-sounding "sorry" before beckoning Josh into his office. It was all I could do to keep from throwing something at him. Had the man just chastised me like I was an errant three-year-old still learning her manners?

The leer on Josh's face as he passed me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "See you around, Katie. Mr. Selman, did I tell you that your lovely assistant and I go way back? We're old friends of the family . . ."

When the door closed behind them I stood frozen until Sam came back. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking at me with concern. "You're awfully pale."

I shook my head, trying not to think about Josh and Mr. Selman working together. "I'm fine," I said absently. "Let's get out of here."

***

Josie was sitting on the front porch when I got home. There was no sign of my dad, even though his car was in the driveway blocking the garage.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, pushing past her to open the door.

"Well, hello to you, too." Josie made a face at me, and I threw my arms around her in an exaggerated hug. "Ouch!" she yelped. "You're poking me!"

"You're the one that wanted a hug when I had my hands full," I reminded her. "You look good."

Josie looked me over critically. "So do you. Do you have a personal shopper? You didn't dress this nice at home. Dad's in the garage, by the way. He's trying to figure out how he's going to get your car home so he can work on it."

I groaned. "Please tell me that's a joke." My dad had a fascination with car repair. His track record, unfortunately, was abysmal.

"Nope," she said, following me down the hall. "He swears he'll have it fixed by Thanksgiving."

I made a silent plea to the deity who helped would-be mechanics that I would still have a car in November. "Here's your room," I told her, watching as she dumped her bag on the floor by the bed. "You might as well unpack while I change."

When I returned a few minutes later Josie was turning in a circle in the middle of the room. She stopped when I knocked on the door to let her know I was there. "It's great," she said, looking very pleased with herself. "What are we doing while I'm here? Do you have me lined up with any hot guys?"

"Josie, for the hundredth time, I don't know any boys your age, hot or otherwise."

She pouted slightly. "I guess I'm on my own, then."

"You are. Hey, Dad."

He hugged me with one arm, leaving the other to dangle at his side. "Is something wrong with your hand?"

Dad shook his head. "No, sweetie. It's just got grease all over it and I didn't want to get you dirty."

I kissed his stubbly cheek. "Are you sure you want to take the car home? I can take it somewhere in town and see about getting it fixed. Then you wouldn't have to bother." I winced at the hopeful tone in my voice.

He just smiled and squeezed my shoulder a little tighter. "I don't mind a bit. Besides, it'll give me something to do in the evenings."

That was exactly what I was afraid of. "Okay," I said weakly, knowing it was no use to argue. Besides, it made him happy. What was I supposed to do, crush the poor man's dream? And, on the practical side, I'd have enough saved before then to just buy a new one. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."

He kissed me on the forehead and then looked sternly at Josie, who'd just discovered Mr. P. "Be good for your brother and sister," he said. "I'll be back Monday at two. Don't let her get too excited about a boy," he added in an undertone for my benefit. "I'm hoping a weekend away, with no boys in sight, will curb her enthusiasm."

I looked over at Josie's shining face and sighed. "I'll do my best, Dad, but don't hold your breath."

He just sighed and wandered out the door, muttering something about how boys were easier to deal with than girls.

By the time we heard his car (pulling mine, I was sad to say) roll out of the driveway Josie had Mr. P on his back, his tail slapping the ground as she rubbed his belly. "I like your dog," she announced. "He's very friendly."

"That depends on who's here. He didn't like Jessica at all."

She raised her eyebrows but continued her patting. "Who's Jessica?"

I pulled another face. "The girl Oliver's been seeing. She lives a few doors down, so I'm sure you'll meet her."

"Oh, that's right. I can't wait." Her expression mirrored my own.

"Come on, let's get ready," I told her, anxious to get the idea of Jessica out of my head because it reminded me of Josh. "We're supposed to meet Oliver on campus in fifteen minutes."

"Oh, good! College boys!"

I just groaned.

***

Josie chattered away happily about the guy that had lent her his cell phone (Jesse? Jacob? All I could remember was that his name started with 'J') as we drove down the street. When we neared Jessica's house I slowed down.

"This is where Oliver's current – girlfriend -- lives," I told her, one eye on the house and the other eye on the road. Well, not literally. But you know what I mean.

Josie squinted out the window. "Is that her inside, making out with some guy who's not Oliver? Our brother's dating a skank?"

When I turned my head the steering wheel jerked so hard that I almost hit the mailbox. "For Pete's sake, Josie, stop making things up like that when I'm driving. I almost wrecked George's car!"

"Look!" she cried, completely ignoring me and pointing to Jessica's window. The blinds were open, much to my dismay. I stepped hard on the brake and gaped at the scene in front of me, unable to turn away no matter how much I wanted to. Now I knew how rubberneckers felt. There was a certain similarity between a car crash and what was going on inside that house . . .

I was trying to get my mouth closed again when the fellow doing the kissing raised his head slightly and glanced out the window. He spotted Josie first and grinned, and when his eyes shifted to me they widened, then narrowed, and then he had the audacity to wink.

My hands, which had been holding up my weight, slipped from the steering wheel and I fell onto the horn. Jessica didn't bother to turn around to see who was being attacked in her front yard because she was kissing . . .

David Selman.

In full view of all the neighbors.

When she was supposed to be dating my brother.

Josie's voice broke the silence. "Well, I guess that says a lot about his choice in girls." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "We should probably get going. Otherwise the police will come and arrest you for disturbing the peace."

"Right," I mumbled, wrenching my body off the horn and knowing my dreams would be terrible for weeks.

Despite what the clock said, the drive to Butler seemed to take forever. But when she saw Oliver, Josie hopped out of the car like she'd seen nothing strange at all. "Oliver!" she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. "It's been so boring around the house! Without you around, Mom and Dad blame me for everything!"

He grinned at her and squeezed her so tight her back cracked. "It's about time you got what was coming to you. I'm glad to see I've been missed, though. What have you been up to, besides getting into trouble?"

Josie shrugged, her eyes dancing. "A lot of hanging out at the mall, a little studying. It's all good."

"Sounds like me." Oliver's gaze shifted to me.

Josie looked between the two of us and tilted her head. "I saw your girlfriend today."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. You've got to learn to pick better women, Oliver. That one's not good for you."

I wasn't sure if I should feel smug that Josie was repeating my words or bad that Oliver had to hear it from his baby sister. "You don't know what you're talking about," he told her in a warning voice.

"Then I guess you like women that make out with other guys while their 'boyfriend' is off at school, studying hard so he can make the world a better place." Josie's voice was innocent, but her eyes spoke volumes.

There were times that having a sister eleven years younger than me really got on my nerves (like how she was treated differently than I was at her age, and how she got away with murder), but at that moment I was so glad she was there that I almost burst into tears.

Oliver, however, didn't feel the same way. "I'm sure you were confused," he said after a moment's silence. "Jessica would never do something like that to me. She was just on the phone a few minutes ago, telling me how sorry she was that she couldn't come to dinner with us. She said something pressing had come up . . . "

For a second it seemed like a light bulb had switched on over his head, but then it flickered back off. He scowled fiercely. "You must have the wrong house," he told her. A vein throbbed in his forehead, making him look slightly mad. "Jessica's very loyal to her friends."

"Especially the new ones. Does she live in the white house at the end of the street?"

Oliver's "yes" came out unwillingly.

"Then unless someone broke in with their boyfriend and decided it would be fun to make out in someone else's house, I'd say the person I saw was Jessica." Josie looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sure she didn't mean to make out with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome in front of her picture window for everyone to see," she added. "I mean, it's her house. It's not like a person can't do that sort of thing in their own home. At least she didn't lie to you. Do you know who he is?"

I cleared my throat. "I do, actually. His name's David Selman."

I met Oliver's shocked gaze. "Hannah's brother? The one you guys were talking about at dinner?"

This was harder than I'd thought. I'd figured that Oliver's're-awakening of the rational mind' wouldn't be so harsh. "One and the same."

We stood there awkwardly for what felt like an eternity, Oliver rubbing the back of his neck compulsively – something I hadn't seen since he'd tried to decide whether or not to go back to school. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for that," he said finally, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than us. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. Didn't you want to see the campus?" he asked, turning his attention to Josie. "We'd better get moving or there'll be a huge wait for dinner."

There _was_ a huge wait for dinner, during which Oliver wandered around and brooded. Josie, much to my surprise, found a boy she declared "the hottest ever" and latched herself onto him, sending me smug looks every now and then. I didn't know how we could be related. It took me months to get up enough courage to talk to a boy; Josie saw one she liked, walked up to him, and had his number within minutes. It just wasn't fair.

Despite Oliver's poorly-concealed gloom, Josie and I had a great time. She'd decided she was 'in like' with this boy, whose name, I discovered, was Jon, and wanted to know if she could bring him along on our outing the next day.

"Sure," I told her, thinking that her tune might change once I told her where we were going. "We'll be at the Children's Museum at eleven."

Her eyes lit up, reminding me that while she may talk big, she was still only fourteen. "Great! I haven't been there in so long. Do they still have that cool water clock in the front?"

Oliver grunted and stared at his food. "Probably. I can't come with you, though. I promised Jessica I'd help her paint the living room."

"Doesn't she know you have family in town?" It was so hard to keep the accusing note out of my voice.

He just shrugged. "Yeah, she knows. She told me it was an emergency. Something to do with the color not suiting her skin tone."

When Josie snorted into her soda Oliver's gaze flickered to her. "Plus, it'll give me a chance to . . . check things out. You know."

"You want to look for evidence?"

Oliver's glass fell from his grasp and water sloshed onto the table. "Very funny, Josie. You've been watching too much tv with Mom."

She just lifted one shoulder and went back to scanning the crowded restaurant. "Maybe, but if you look closely enough I'm sure you'll find something you don't like. You should just dump her tomorrow while you're over there and get it over with."

"Shut up."

"I agree with Josie. No excuse she can come up with will make you feel any better about her cheating on you." The words were out of my mouth before I knew it, and as soon as I'd said them I knew I was in for it. "Can we change the subject?" I added hastily. "We'll miss you tomorrow, but Sam'll be coming so I won't feel like a third wheel."

Josie's snort turned into a choke. "Sam? Is that Sam as in Samuel or Sam as in Samantha?"

I smiled at her primly and folded my hands on my lap. "Samuel." I thought. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure what Sam's full name was.

Once she got her air pipes straightened out, Josie sniffed and dabbed at her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "I can't believe it," she said, pretending to blow her nose in her napkin. "My big sister's finally landed a real, live man. Are you sure your precious Mr. Darcy won't be offended?"

I threw my napkin at her and scowled when she caught it mid-air. "Very funny, Josie. For your information, he's read _Pride and Prejudice_. And liked it."

It was Oliver's turn to snort into his drink. "Sure he did. And I guess he loved _Little Women_, too."

I rolled my eyes and tried to look as haughty as Mr. P in one of his moods. "I have no idea. I happen to think he has a lot in common with Mr. Darcy."

Josie burst out laughing. "You would. Poor guy; I'll have to let him know what he's getting himself into."

"I can leave you at home, you know."

"Then you'd have to entertain your guy and mine at the same time."

"What are you talking about?"

Josie pushed Oliver's phone in my direction. "I just texted him. He says he'd be thrilled to come to the museum with us tomorrow. So, unless you want to have a disappointed teenage boy on your hands, you'd better let me come. Besides, I want to make sure this Sam guy really exists. After years of you pining away over some non-existent hunk, who knows what you might do to a real guy when you realize the pretend one isn't going to leap out of that book and sweep you off your feet?"

If she only knew.

***

By the time Josie and I left the following morning Oliver had already wandered off to Jessica's, paint rollers in hand. He didn't appear very excited. I hoped he really was going to ask her about the make-out session we'd seen the day before. With any luck I'd never have to see anyone with the last name of Haskins ever again.

The museum was starting to get crowded, but Josie found Luke right away. "We'll be over by the clock when you're ready," she said, throwing me a meaningful look before taking Jon's hand and pulling him along behind her.

I'd only been hovering near the entrance for a few seconds before I felt a hand settle on the small of my back. "I've been waiting for you," Sam said, leaning down so I could hear him above the excited babble of children's voices. "You're late."

"No, I'm not," I retorted, swiveling my head around so I could see him. "It's just eleven now. See, the clock is turning."

Without taking his gaze away from mine, Sam shook his head. "Then I guess it just feels that way." He stared at me for a moment. "You look very . . . lovely. I think this is the first time I've seen you in something besides work clothes."

"Well, there was that time with Mr. P."

Sam's eyes danced. "Yeah, but I wasn't paying attention to your clothes. I was more worried about the rabid dog that was going to eat you at any moment."

I could feel the corners of my mouth lift. "I'm so glad he didn't. Then I would have looked even more idiotic."

"You never look idiotic." Sam's expression was serious, like he really meant what he said – which I knew was the biggest lie anyone had ever told about me, but hey, it was sweet anyway.

"Katie! Over here!"

"That's my sister," I said apologetically. "She's found herself a friend, so we might be on our own today. Unless you want to trail after them and make sure they don't get into any trouble."

"What about your brother?" Sam asked as we weaved through the crowd. "Isn't he coming, too?" He must have felt my spine stiffen, because he added quickly, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, that's okay. He had other plans. This is my sister, Josie, and her friend, Jon."

Sam reached out and shook Josie's hand. "Pleased to meet you," he told her. "I've heard a lot about your family, and it's so nice to be able to finally meet you."

Josie's eyes glazed over and she giggled. While Sam and Jon were exchanging pleasantries (which pretty much amounted to a grunt from the younger of the two) she stage-whispered in my ear, "He's so hot!"

Sam turned a light shade of pink but waggled his eyebrows at her. "Thank you, Miss Embury. I'm just trying to keep up with your older sister."

Josie just giggled again and winked at me. "He's a keeper," she said. "So, are you two like a couple? Have you kissed yet?"

The subtle pink on Sam's cheeks grew darker and darker. "Josie, stop it," I hissed. "I think we should get going, don't you?"

She pouted but headed down the hallway, Jon trudging along beside her. I noticed that he was holding her hand.

Sam cleared his throat and placed his hand on my back again. "Well, what do you think? Do we follow them or leave them to their own devices?

It was so tempting to wander around, getting lost in the quiet corners (there weren't any, but a girl could hope) and finding an answer to Josie's rather impertinent question. "I think we'd better follow them," I said with so much regret that Sam laughed. "I'm responsible for her until she goes back home, and if I send her back in disgrace my parents'll kill me for sure."

"I'd protect you." Sam was still laughing.

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't go making promises you can't keep. After all, you've never met my mother."

Sam was the perfect type of person to take to a museum. He played with all the exhibits (at least, the ones he could fit into) and laughed and joked around with my sister and Jon. By the time we were ready to leave he had Josie completely under his spell.

"I think I'll take him when he dumps you," Josie announced over dinner. Jon had had to leave, but she'd felt no compunction in inviting Sam to take us out. He'd agreed but only with the condition that he got to choose the restaurant. I groaned when he led us to the Broad Ripple Brew Pub – the scene of my infamous meeting with Josh. When I glared at him accusingly, he just shrugged and slung his arm over my shoulder. "I thought we should try again," was his explanation. "It's almost like it was supposed to be the first time, only we have your sister here instead of mine. You don't mind, do you?"

I relaxed a little and gazed up at him. At that moment I probably would have agreed to just about anything. "I can handle it."

After I'd got a very tired Josie in the car Sam held my door open for me. "Well? Did it work?"

Maybe my brain was starting to shut down. "Did what work?"

"My plan to get your memories about this restaurant replaced. Do you think you could walk past it tomorrow without wanting to be sick?"

Oh. "Of course. Thanks for everything, Sam. I had a really good time today."

His eyes shone in the light from the streetlamp. "Me, too." He stood there for a second, then reached out his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering in my hair. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Okay." I leaned against the car and watched as he walked slowly down the sidewalk.

I wondered if Elizabeth had ever wanted Darcy to kiss her.

It wasn't until I was in bed that night that I realized that for the first time since I'd met Sam Selman not one thing had gone wrong – I hadn't been tied up by a dog or murdered by an ink cartridge or smeared with mud. In fact, I hadn't had any disasters – clothing or otherwise – all day.

Maybe it was just a small dose of good luck.

Maybe I'd finally rid myself of my curse. (Josh came immediately to mind.)

Or maybe, just maybe, I was finally on the road to real adulthood.

Hey, a girl can always hope.

___________________

Author's note: I feel like I keep repeating myself, but I wake up in cold sweats at night that Linnea will decide she's finished with Northanger Abbey and tell me to stop asking her to beta, so, thanks, thanks, thanks! I know you're terribly busy and I appreciate all the help. You too, CJ.

Let me know what you think; it makes me write faster when I know people are reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Breakfast on Monday morning was a very quiet affair – mostly because Josie, while sitting next to me at the table, wasn't really there yet.

She stirred her cereal listlessly and was in the middle of a jaw-splitting yawn when Oliver came in, looking rather determined.

"Hello, little sisters." He grabbed a bowl and the open box of Cheerios and seconds later was shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming rate.

"Are you in a hurry?" I tried not to gawk at his over-stuffed mouth.

Nodding, he washed everything down with a huge gulp of milk. "I'm taking Josie to the mall, remember? We only have a few hours before Dad gets here, so we'd better get going."

"It's only seven thirty, Oliver. The mall won't open for a while."

He just shrugged and continued eating. "So we'll wait in the car until it does."

I was about to protest, on Josie's behalf, that sitting in a car in an empty parking lot was hardly the sort of thing any sane teenager did for fun, but the word 'mall' had perked Josie up. "We're going to the mall? Can we _please_ not go into any kitchen supply stores?"

Maybe she didn't care how early they got there – or maybe she was too asleep. But I understood what she was saying; after all, I'd been on far too many shopping trips with our mother, all of which consisted of debating the merits of different finger towels.

She caught my eye and winked. She was more awake than I thought.

"Yes, please, Oliver. No towel stores."

"Or bathroom stores."

"Or old-lady clothes stores."

Oliver looked confused. "What are you guys talking about?"

Josie and I glanced at each other and started to laugh. "Nothing," we chorused.

Josie sat up straighter and started paying more attention to her breakfast. "Did you ever talk to Jessica about the kissing thing?" she asked around a bite of toast. Her voice was almost too innocent to be believed, and she glanced at Oliver when he didn't answer right away. I had to give it to her; she was sneakier than I'd given her credit for.

Oliver's breakfast had suddenly become very intriguing, and he studied his bowl intently. "Yeah, I did."

"What did she say?"

He shrugged and slathered some more peanut butter on his bread, being very careful not to look at either of us.

"Come on, Ollie, tell us." No wonder she was so spoiled. She'd perfected that wheedling tone so well that I was willing to bet a small fortune that she'd have her own cell phone by the time she went back home.

His head shot up at the use of Jessica's pet name and I gave Josie a warning glare – which she ignored. "If you must know, she said nothing had happened and that the two of you must have been hallucinating."

Josie rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You didn't believe her, did you?"

Oliver got to his feet and stalked into the laundry room. "I did, at first." His voice was muffled, like he was searching for something in the corner of the small room. "But then I found this." A green polo shirt suddenly flew across the kitchen and landed in his bowl, sloshing milk onto the floor. Mr. P materialized under the table, his tail going a mile a minute. He shot me a look that said there was no way I was going to stop this canine vacuum, so I might as well not try.

As Mr. P slurped up the milk dripping onto the floor, I picked up the part of the shirt that was closest to me. It looked alarmingly like the one Sam had given me, and I was almost afraid to check the logo on the other side.

"What did she say when you found it?"

Oliver slumped back into his chair and watched Mr. P. "When I asked her about it she claimed it'd gotten mixed into her dry cleaning by mistake, but when I reminded her that most people don't dry clean golf shirts, she finally admitted that she _may_ have had a visitor."

A loud snort came from Josie's direction. "An overnight one that forgot to take his clothes with him."

"Stop it." For the first time that morning Oliver's eyes flashed. "I know Jessica shouldn't have been . . . entertaining . . . like that, but she's still a good person."

Josie and I stared at him in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind? I can't believe what I'm hearing! She cheated on you, Oliver! It doesn't matter that you'd only been going out for a month. It's still cheating!"

Oliver's cheeks flushed. "I know that," he said quietly. "If it makes you feel happy, I told her I wasn't going to see her anymore."

For the first time in her life Josie had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. "I'm sorry on your behalf," I told him gently, moving the shirt onto the floor so he wouldn't have to stare at it. Mr. P waffled happily and began licking that, too. "But I'm very glad she's gone. She was only looking for a rich guy to feed her shopping habits and tell her how fabulous she looked in those ridiculous clothes."

He looked up at me, and I was shocked to see the sorrow in his eyes. "Yeah, well, you can't have everything. And that doesn't surprise me a whole lot," he continued, his gaze fixed to a spot on the floor that was suspiciously near the green shirt (which, I was glad to see, was being shredded to bits by Mr. P). "She wasn't too thrilled when I told her I wanted to work for a non-profit after I get my degree."

I could just imagine how that conversation had gone. "When did she find out?"

"About two days before she met Hannah's brother."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, and we all listened to the sound of ripping fabric and Mr. P's snorts of satisfaction. Finally, when I thought I couldn't take the quiet any longer, Josie piped up.

"What did you see in her, anyway? She sounds like a total jerk. There had to be more to her than a pair of super-charged breasts." She caught my expression. "What? It was obvious, even through the window and squashed up against that guy, that she had a personal relationship with a plastic surgeon."

I tried to muffle a snort of laughter but failed miserably. Josie was much funnier now that we no longer had to live in the same house.

Oliver stared at Josie for a long time, his mouth hanging open like a fish with a hook stuck in its jaws. "Well, she . . . um . . . you know," he said, clearing his throat, "I don't really know."

"Then it's good that you escaped before it was too late."

Since when had my baby sister become such an expert on relationships? The girl hadn't even officially been out on a date yet. "Where are you getting all this stuff?" I demanded.

She took a sip of her apple juice, her pinky finger stuck out in a gesture that I was sure was meant to look posh and sophisticated. "I watch Oprah with Mom."

Oliver spluttered for a second before resting his head in his hands and groaning.

***

When I got into work Mr. Selman was already secreted in his office, but he bellowed my name when he heard me walk past his door.

"Miss Embury! Come in here right away!"

This didn't sound good. "Yes, sir?"

He scowled at my jacket and purse. "Put those away before you present yourself. It looks so unprofessional."

I withdrew in shock. Mr. Selman had never been so blatantly rude before, and I began to worry that I'd unwittingly done something wrong.

When I was more presentable I knocked on his door again. "I'm sorry about that, sir," I said in a rush. "I thought you needed me right away."

He still didn't look happy but waved me in anyway. "I spoke with your friend Josh last week. Did he happen to say anything to you?"

I pulled a face before I realized it. "No, I haven't seen him since Friday when he was here. Do you need me to contact him?" Please say no, I begged in my head.

"No." Thank goodness. "I understand that your families have known each other for quite some time."

How long ago, exactly, had Oliver met Josh? It had to be at least seven years. By some standards that was a long time. "I suppose."

Mr. Selman stared at me beadily. "I also understand you had a little trouble at home before you came to work for me."

Oh, please. Not the whole you-were-fired-by-your-uncle thing again. "It was just unfortunate timing," I said in a voice that was rather too firm. "I mean, I'm glad everything worked out for – "

"That's enough, Miss Embury." Mr. Selman got to his feet and regarded me in silence. It appeared that he was trying to make up his mind about something. When he spoke again, his voice was decisive. "I think I would like some coffee. Get it for me before you start on my golf clubs."

I gaped at him. Not once in my entire six weeks of working for Mr. Selman had he ordered me around like this. "Excuse me, sir?"

He jabbed a finger in the corner, already focusing on something else. "The clubs, Miss Embury. Take care of them this morning; there's a box of tees in the bag for you to use. I want them back before I have to leave for my golf outing this afternoon."

I swallowed and grabbed them. On my way out I forced myself to ask, "Will you need me to attend as well?"

He didn't even glance up from his computer. "No. I think your days of going on boondoggle trips are over. Good day, Miss Embury."

I didn't see Sam until later that afternoon. I was sitting outside, huddled against the back wall of the building and trying to scrape all the mud off Mr. Selman's very nasty golf clubs, when Sam walked out the kitchen door, looking very disgruntled.

"Katie! What are you doing here?" It was a credit to his good manners that he managed to sound happy to see me even with the scowl lines firmly entrenched in his forehead.

I held up the club I was currently trying to clean. "Working. Did your dad have a bad weekend? He's in a terrible mood."

"My father asked you to do this? He usually has these cleaned before he leaves the course. Why's he making you do it? It'd be easier if you rinsed them off in the kitchen."

I sighed and scraped harder, hoping I'd somehow scratch lines into the stupid thing. "He told me to use the tees. I think he's mad at me. Either he had a terrible round of golf yesterday or I've managed to insult him."

Sam sank down beside me and grabbed a tee to start scraping. "Believe it or not, he had one of his best rounds to date over the weekend, from what I've heard. Why? Has he said something to you?"

I just shook my head. "He seemed to be in a grand mood until I showed up, and then he started snapping orders and being rude. I didn't do anything to tick him off, did I?"

The steady sound of a scraping golf tee was strangely comforting. "Beats me. Don't worry about it. I'm sure he'll be fine tomorrow."

Somehow I doubted that. "I guess. You don't have to do that, you know. I'm sure you have better things to do."

Sam looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "I don't, actually. I'm glad to get out of that building for a few minutes."

"Even though it looks like it might rain?"

His scraping motions didn't stop. "Especially if it rains. I need to cool off."

I wasn't sure if I should ask him what was wrong. We didn't know each other very well, at least not yet (I hoped), but it was pretty obvious that something was bothering him. "Sam, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He gave the golf club an especially vicious jab and muttered something under his breath.

I scowled at him and pulled the club out of his grasp before he could kill it. When he opened his mouth to protest, I rested my hand on his and fluttered my eyelashes. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

I knew I looked stupid but I'd hoped to look dumb enough to make him laugh. That didn't work, though, and his gaze focused on my hand on top of his. He seemed to be having a hard time breathing.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

His eyes were softer when he raised them to mine, and when I tried to pull my hand away his fingers grasped my wrist. "Will you go out with me this Friday?" he blurted. As soon as the words were out of his mouth his face turned pink and he let go of me like I'd scalded him.

Surely he didn't think I'd tell him no. "Is that what's been bothering you?" I asked, peering at him curiously. "Of course I'll go out with you. Why wouldn't I?"

Sam leaned fully against the wall and exhaled like he'd been holding his breath. "I don't know. I guess I thought you might have plans with someone else."

I could feel my eyebrows knitting themselves together. "I haven't been here long enough to meet a whole lot of people, Sam," I reminded him. "Besides you and Hannah, and Oliver, of course, I hardly have a social life."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, is it?" When he reached to take the golf club back, his fingers brushed mine, and his hand lingered a few seconds too long. "What would you like to do on our date? I can be very accommodating."

My brain was feeling decidedly fuzzy all through his speech, but at the word 'date' it snapped back into focus. I suddenly had visions of me in high heels, tottering into the street only to be hit by a garbage truck. "Nothing formal, please," I said, wincing at the mental picture. Strange things did tend to happen when I was around Sam, and there was no use taking unnecessary risks by wearing heels.

"I can do casual. Do you like Italian food?"

My mind was still focused on that blasted garbage truck. "Sure, as long as it's not too garlicky."

He grinned. "I know just the place. I'll be by your house Friday around seven, then, if that's okay with you."

"We can just leave from here. There's no point driving all the way up to Spring Mill Road just to get me when we're both already here."

He turned to me, all teasing gone from his face. "Katie, if I'm going to take you out properly – with no siblings and no stalkers around – then I'm going to do it right."

The reality of Mr. Darcy was so much better than I'd ever imagined. "Okay," I breathed, looking up at him with big eyes.

He gazed back down at me and had just started to move his head toward mine when the back door flew open and Mr. Selman stormed out. "There you are, Miss Embury. I hope you've finished with those; I'll be needing them sooner than I expected. Sam, is everything set for the event at the theatre this weekend?"

"Yes, it is." Sam's expression when he got to his feet was a mixture of martyrdom and disappointment. "I'll see you later, Katie. Come with me, sir, and I'll show you what we have planned."

I sat there alone for a moment, my pulse slamming into my veins. Had Sam been getting ready to kiss me? I'd gladly endure anything Mr. Selman threw my way if that was the reward.

I was walking down the hall on my way back to my desk when it occurred to me that Sam hadn't told me what had been bothering him. But when I stepped into the foyer to place the golf clubs in the Ferrari, I stopped cold.

There, in front of the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, was Josh's beat-up Corvette, a bag of golf clubs sticking out the front window.

***

Josh didn't cross my desk all week, much to my relief. The more I saw of him the more I realized that anyone with the last name of Haskins was trouble. The only thing that made me feel any better was the fact that, after a day of moping around the house like a misplaced basset hound, Oliver finally snapped back to reality – and his old self.

"I still don't understand why you tried to push Josh on me," I said to him early Friday morning. I'd gotten up early to make him breakfast, and to see how recovered he was from Jessica's ill-treatment.

He stared out the back window thoughtfully. "It seemed like a good idea, at least at first," he finally said. "I was dating his sister, and it would have been fun to go out on double dates. But then Jessica started to push the idea, and I kind of went along with it." He transferred his gaze to me, and I was surprised to see real remorse in his eyes. "I know he had trouble back in school, but he seemed so depressed and – I don't know – lonely. I knew if anyone could cheer him up it'd be you, and after we met you downtown that first time he seemed genuinely happy to see you."

Oh, he'd been happy to see me, all right. I thought about telling Oliver about my more recent encounters with Josh, but really, all he'd done was flex his muscles and blather on about how great he was going to be when he got his big chance. Whatever that was. He _had_ made me uncomfortable at times, though . . .

Oliver was staring at me strangely. "What's going through that mind of yours?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Did Josh do something to you?"

Evidently I was still horrible at keeping my feelings to myself. "Josh, do something to me? He just gave me the willies, that's all. I've got to get to work," I said, glancing at my watch. "Will you be home tonight?"

He shrugged. "I should be home around dinner, maybe a little later."

It figured that my brother would be home the first time Sam insisted on picking me up for a date. "I'm going out, so if you want to make other plans it might not be a bad idea."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really? Is Hannah involved?"

Hmm. This would be an interesting question to delve into if I had a few more minutes to burn. "No, actually. I'm going out with Sam."

A long, slow smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Well, I'll make sure to be home in plenty of time to give him the proper Embury greeting."

"Oliver . . . "

He laughed. "Don't worry, Katie. I won't bring out the shotgun."

I wondered if I could get Junie to pretend I lived at her house for the evening.

***

By the time Mr. Selman left for the day I was ready to strangle him. It seemed that every time I turned around he was calling my name or chasing me down the hall to give me yet another task to do. It wasn't the work I objected to, although some of the things he ordered me to do were more fitting for a wife than a personal assistant (I'd never sewn a button on another man's shirt sleeves while he was wearing it, and I never want to do it again – the man kept _twitching_). What bothered me was the way he barked orders at me, like I was a hoodlum in some sort of bizarre boot camp for misbehaving caterers.

I was finally on my way out the door when a sudden, rather vindictive urge hit and I changed course to walk purposefully toward Sam's closet-office. His grunt when I knocked on his door made me smile to myself – he was obviously not in the best of moods -- and I pushed open the door with my severest expression.

"Why are you still here, Mr. Selman?"

I could hardly believe my own voice. It sounded so . . . so . . . authoritative. Almost like Mary Poppins'. Where was this coming from? Sam must have wondered the same thing because his head flew up and he stared at me for a second, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

All ha managed to get out was, "I'm -- I'm – "

He looked so panicked I felt bad for teasing him, but the words kept coming out of my mouth. "If you think I'm going to sit around and wait an hour for you again, you've got another think coming."

At this his eyes bugged out slightly and he swallowed hard. "I was just about to leave," he stammered. "I didn't – "

Relaxing against the door, I grinned at him. "I'm kidding, Sam," I said, laughing and tilting my head to the side. "You didn't really think I was serious, did you?"

He buried his face in his hands and exhaled loudly. "Not at all." When I snorted he peeked between his fingers. "Well, maybe a little, at first. But you're just too nice to hold a grudge, especially when I still feel so terribly about that whole stupid mess."

He had a point. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, looking down at the floor and inching backward. "It was supposed to be funny, but I guess it didn't work."

Sam rose from his chair and walked toward me, his mouth turned upward in a hesitant smile. "It _was_ funny, after I realized you were kidding. I didn't mean to lecture you like that."

I reluctantly looked up at him. His brown eyes were creased with worry. "I'll forgive you if you do the same for me."

His sudden grin made his whole face light up. "It's a deal."

He was moving closer, hand outstretched to seal out little deal, when something hard crashed on my head. As I looked up to see what had happened, Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him just as something else smashed onto the floor.

"What was that?" I gasped, holding my free hand to my head. "Is the ceiling caving in?"

Sam's hands started to explore my scalp. "Are you okay? That thing hit you pretty hard."

A girl could get used to a handsome man running his fingers through her hair. If only it didn't happen when I'd been whacked in the head by an inanimate object . . .

"I think I'm okay," I said, wincing only a very little when his fingers brushed across the sore spot. "What happened?"

Evidently satisfied that I wasn't going to bleed to death (and I could have told him that, but it would've meant his fingers leaving my hair way too soon), Sam looked over my head and into the hallway. Then he started to laugh under his breath.

"You have the most incredible bad luck," he told me. "It seems that the light cover fell from the ceiling and hit you, and then the light bulb followed. You could have been seriously burned. Those lights run hot."

Eventually Sam was going to get sick of saving me from stupid accidents. I wondered idly how long that would take. "Thanks for saving my head," I said, trying not to sound too freaked out. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were a bad luck charm."

A very strange expression crossed his face, one that I couldn't understand. "I can see why you'd think that," he said slowly. "I hope this doesn't mean you won't go to dinner with me tonight. I was really hoping we could continue to get to know each other and -- "

"And what?"

He paused for a long second and stared at me with that strange expression still firmly fixed on his face. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then closed it. When I raised my eyebrows at him he just shrugged. "Are you sure you're okay? I can change our reservation if you need me to."

Hmm. Would Oliver be home by seven? Maybe pushing it up a bit wouldn't be a bad idea. Then again, with my luck he'd make it a point to come home early just in case. "I'll be ready."

He leaned against the door jamb and grinned. "Then I guess I'd better get home. I'd hate for you to have to spend a whole evening with me when I smell like a catering kitchen."

Butterflies began dancing in my stomach. If there was one thing I found absolutely irresistible, it was a nice-smelling man. I wondered idly what kind of scent Mr. Darcy would have. Something woodsy and . . . strong. Mm. No, make that spicy and foreign. Or perhaps –

"Katie? Are you okay?"

My eyes flew to his and I stared at him with wide eyes. "What? Oh, right. Yeah, I'm good. I think I'll just go now."

Sam's chuckle filled the hallway as I left. I had the strange feeling that if everything went well, I'd know exactly what Mr. Darcy smelled like in a matter of an hour or two.

***

Oliver was waiting for me when I came out of my room that evening with fifteen minutes to spare. "I think your snookums is here," he said, nodding to the front window. "You look very nice, by the way. If you're trying to make a good impression it'll work."

I patted my head. I was in another of Bea's classic outfits (one of the few that didn't require high heels) and I'd even shaved my legs – twice. Sam always seemed to be staring at my legs when they were at their fuzziest. I'd tried to put my hair up into something casual and chic, but every time I pulled my hair back my scalp protested. I hoped Sam didn't mind that I'd left it down. "Thanks," I said absently, padding into the living room to gaze outside. Sure enough, Sam's car was in the driveway.

"He's been there for at least ten minutes," Oliver said, sticking his baseball cap on his head. "Hasn't moved a muscle, as far as I could tell."

What was he doing out there? I was frowning at the car when Sam's head turned, and he twitched, like he'd been caught at something. Seconds later he opened the car door.

"I think he's done with waiting," I told Oliver as I collected my shoes from my room.

He disappeared down the hall, only to return a few seconds later with the most ancient-looking golf club I'd ever seen. "What are you doing with that?" I asked. "You don't play."

He grinned at me. "You know that, and I know that, but your lover-boy doesn't, and while I promised you I wouldn't bring out the shotgun I want to make sure your date knows I mean business." Then he parked himself by the front door, took out a towel, and began polishing.

"Oliver – "

He smirked at me when the doorbell rang, effectively cutting me off. I threw a shoe at him and tried to collect myself before I threw open the door. "Hi, Sam."

Sam blinked at me, and for a nanosecond he looked like he'd been stunned. I knew how he felt; he was dressed in jeans and a white shirt, casually unbuttoned at the neck, with a navy blazer over it against the cold. He looked too good to be true. "You – you look wonderful," Sam said in a low voice. He shook his head and blinked again, like he was coming out of a trance, and smiled at me. "These are for you."

The flowers he handed me were yellow, of course. I was going to have to find a very tactful way of letting him know that yellow really, _really_ wasn't my thing. "Thank you," I murmured, burying my face in their petals. "They're beautiful. Let me run to the kitchen and put them in some water. Come on in."

Oliver had watched this exchange with that stupid smirk still on his face, and when I brushed past him without an introduction he got to his feet, the golf club still grasped tightly in his hands. "I'm her brother, Oliver," he drawled. "And you are . . . ?"

Sam held out his hand and smiled politely. "Sam Selman. I work with your sister at the catering company."

Oliver didn't seem to know what to do with the club he was holding and ended up shifting it from hand to hand before finally leaning it against the wall. It looked much less imposing that way – if it had at all. "I understand you'll be taking my little sister out tonight."

I escaped down the hallway, narrowly missing Mr. P on his way to investigate the newcomer. I stuffed the flowers in the first thing I could find that was big enough (it happened to be a jelly jar, and I made a mental note to change that as soon as I got home) and had just turned around to save Sam from my brother when the two of them came into the kitchen. Oliver, golf club slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, seemed to be giving Sam the grand tour.

"I'm ready when you are," I said a little desperately. You never knew what sorts of things a brother might say to a date that would make him turn tail and never come back.

"That's okay, Katie," Sam said, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "Oliver here was just about to show me the backyard. He says he wants one just like it when he buys his own house."

Mr. P nudged Sam's knee with his nose. "See?" he told me. "Even Mr. Poppikins wants to show off his domain. I think he likes me."

Oliver shot me a _does this mean he passes the famous Mr. P test?_ look and I just smiled at him weakly.

I managed to get Sam out of the house without too much fuss, and he shot me an amused look before he turned at the end of the street. "You really like yellow, don't you." It was more of a statement than a question.

I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, but Sam didn't notice and went on. "I mean, you live in a yellow house, drive a yellow car; you look great in yellow clothes . . . that's one of the things I like about you, Katie. You know what works for you."

It was now or never. "Actually, Sam, yellow's not really my thing."

He almost swerved into the ditch. "Excuse me?"

I smiled at him apologetically. "It's not my house, or my car. I'm taking care of them for George and Bea. So, you see, I didn't actually choose any of it."

Sam started laughing. "I think I'd like to meet these friends of yours when they get back. And you still look lovely in that yellow blouse you had on the other day. For the record, what _is_ your favorite color?"

"Green."

He glanced sidelong at me. "Like the color of your eyes."

I didn't think he knew that. I mean, I knew _his_ eyes were a dark Hershey brown, but how could I not pay attention to something like that when he was a Mr. Darcy look-alike?

After Sam parked the car I sat still while he ran around to open my door and I took a deep breath. I had thought about this date – well, maybe not this date, but a proper date with Sam – for so many weeks now that it hardly seemed real that I was actually here. And, since I'd already had my daily amount of required humiliation in front of him (I put a hand to my head, remembering the light) nothing else could go wrong.

Sam smiled down at me as we walked up to what looked like someone's house. "I like it when you leave your hair down," he said, lifting his hand as though to touch the strands framing my face. Just before he did, though, his hand fell to the small of my back to guide me forward.

I blushed and hoped the butterflies having a five-alarm party in my stomach weren't going to move in permanently. "Where are we going?" I asked, smiling up at him.

"This is one of my favorite restaurants in the world," he told me, and opened the door to a warm rush of air. "This is Mama Carolla's."

That began the most perfect evening I'd ever experienced. Sam kept smiling at me, and I couldn't help the goofy grin from answering on my own face. While we waited for our table he informed me that the restaurant had indeed been a residence at one point, and it felt so warm and cozy that I could almost envision small, dark-haired children running in and out of the main dining room on errands for their mother. It was the most romantic place I'd ever seen. Even after we were seated Sam smiled at me over the candle on our table, his eyes intense and warm. I gripped the sides of my chair so I wouldn't slide down onto the floor.

We were halfway through our entrees when Sam brought up my family. "I guess the only relatives of yours I haven't met are your parents," he said, leaning forward so that the light from the candle illuminated his cheekbones. I knew girls who'd die for that kind of facial structure. "What's your dad like?"

I smiled involuntarily. "Dad's a high school chemistry teacher that's obsessed with fixing up old cars," I told him. "In fact, I understand that's where mine is right now – in thousands of little pieces all over the garage. He's not very good at fixing them, but he sure loves trying."

Sam got an excited glint in his eye. "What's wrong with your car?"

I shrugged and broke off a piece of crusty bread. "Beats me. It died just as I rolled into George and Bea's driveway my first day here."

"You should have let me look at it." His fingers twitched on the table, and he leaned close enough to risk setting his eyebrows on fire. I put my hand on my water glass, just in case. "I bet I could have figured it out."

Trust me to find the one guy in the entire city of Indianapolis that shared my dad's love for sad cars in need of some love. "I didn't know you were a mechanic on the side."

He grinned a little and leaned back. "I'm not, but I can get by. It's funny, though," he added a little sadly. "No one in my family will let me touch their rides. The next time you need some help let me look at it first."

I sighed inwardly and nodded. "You got it." He couldn't be any worse than my dad, and I just might get to assist him. The idea of Sam with a smudge of oil on his cheek was strangely appealing.

"I quite liked Oliver," he went on, twirling his fork in his pasta. I watched as he lifted his fork to his mouth. Not a drop of sauce fell on his white shirt. It must be a gift. "He was very friendly. I'm surprised he didn't have plans for tonight."

I tore my gaze away from his shirt before he could register that I'd been staring. "Did he tell you that? He was probably trying to say that he'd be waiting up tonight and not to try any funny business."

Sam made a choking noise and covered his mouth with his napkin. "Is that right? Then I guess I'd better behave myself." His grin, when he re-emerged from behind his napkin, was cheeky.

I tried to look severe and failed miserably. "I guess so. Actually, Oliver just broke up with his girlfriend."

His eyebrows rose. "You don't sound all that upset. Didn't you like her?"

I shrugged and went back to my dinner. "She was looking for a rich man to pay for her shopping trips. Since Oliver's interested in saving the world, instead of her closet, that wasn't really what he needed in a future spouse."

This time Sam's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline. "Was he looking for a wife, then?"

Why did it seem like every conversation I had with Sam ended up with us talking about marriage? This couldn't be normal. "Not right now," I admitted. "But isn't that what you do when you date? Try to find the person that will suit you the best and make you the happiest over the next half-century?"

Sam's expression grew thoughtful. "Yeah, I suppose so. I take it this girlfriend wasn't the one that would do that for your brother."

I snorted, and Sam began to chuckle. "Hardly."

By the time we'd finished with dinner (and dessert) I felt so full I could have passed for the Thanksgiving turkey, dressing and all. "I'll have to walk Mr. P twice tomorrow," I said ruefully as we left the restaurant. "I think I've eaten enough to feed a small army."

The fingers on my back tightened. "Would you like to walk with me instead, tonight? I know it's getting late, but I promise to keep you safe from marauding light fixtures."

A walk with Sam (and without Mr. P!) sounded like heaven. "I'd love to."

We drove downtown and parked the car a few blocks south of the university. "This is part of the Monon Trail," he explained as he led me down a flight of stairs. "It's called the White River Trail. During the day you can hear the sounds of the city above you, but you feel more secluded, like you've managed to get away from the craziness for a few minutes just by going down a flight of stairs."

It was lovely. The trail was lined with apartment buildings that I was sure were way beyond my reach, even with Mr. Selman's overly-generous salary, and in the middle of the trail was a ribbon of water that gurgled past as it wound its way downstream. And in the water were –

"Are those fish?" I asked, peering over the side of the canal.

Sam grabbed my hand and pulled me back. "Would you think less of me if I told you I get nervous when you're too close to the water? I trust your sense of balance and all," he added hastily, "but I've seen some pretty crazy things happen to you, and everything's been going so well that – " He stopped talking abruptly and peered into the water. "Yes, those are fish," he went on a few seconds later in a more neutral tone. I could have sworn he was trying to change the subject. "They're koi. Really large goldfish," he added when I stared at him blankly.

"Oh." Somehow I couldn't care less what they were when Sam's hand was still in mine. A subtle smell of soap and fabric softener, tempered by the best cologne that had ever touched my olfactory glands, drifted toward me. So this was what Mr. Darcy smelled like. It was indescribably delicious. A shiver of delight went up my back, and Sam let go of my hand long enough to take off his blazer and help me shrug it on. He looked down at my hand, now mostly covered by his sleeve, and reached out again to lace his fingers through mine before we walked down the path.

"Thanks," I said faintly. If I thought his scent was tantalizing before, it was almost intoxicating now. I could feel myself getting dizzy, so I did what any sensible girl would do and said the first thing that came into my head. "Is Sam short for Samuel?" Ouch. That was about as romantic as asking about his great-aunt Ruth.

Sam got a pained expression on his face. "Not exactly."

Well, even if I hadn't meant to ask him, now I was curious. "So is your real name just Sam, then? People ask me all the time if Katie's short for Katherine or Kathleen, but it's just Katie on my birth certificate."

He scrunched up his face. "No, it's not Sam, either."

When it was evident that he wasn't going to go on without some prodding, I elbowed him in the side. "Then what's your real name?"

"Promise you won't laugh."

Laughing was the last thing I was thinking of right then. "Okay."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, when my parents were starting their family my mom was really into names that had meanings. And since her dad was a preacher, she thought it'd be a good idea to get our names from the Bible."

"There's a Samuel in the Old Testament."

"I know," Sam sighed. "David and Hannah were good biblical names; no one questioned those in middle school, but by the time I came along my mom decided she wanted something a little more exotic. My real name's Samson."

"As in Samson and Delilah?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

The urge to giggle was almost overpowering, but by some Herculean effort I managed to keep a straight face. "That's not so bad, although I can see why you keep your hair a little long."

"Very funny."

"It could have been worse, you know," I said, trying to make him feel better. "She could have named you Nebuchadnezzar."

Sam's sigh was long and heart-felt. "I got teased enough in the eighth grade, thank you very much." He grinned down at me and squeezed my fingers. "I don't mind my name, really. But I do sometimes wish it were a little more common, like Hannah or David."

"I like Sam," I said, grinning back at him. "It fits you."

We walked on in amiable silence, and every time I glanced up Sam was staring at me. I began to think I had something in my hair, but before I could raise my free hand to check Sam began to talk again.

"You never told me why your brother broke up with his girlfriend," he said idly. I wondered if he really was curious or if he felt like he should say something. "Did he just get too busy? I know MBA students have crazy schedules."

If only it were that simple. "Oliver was going out with Jessica Haskins, Josh's sister," I said with a sigh. "When Josie was here last week we saw Jessica kissing your brother, and when Oliver confronted her about it she lied to him, and then he dumped her."

Sam groaned. "David was making out with Josh's sister? His standards have really slipped."

In more ways than one. "I'm just glad I don't have to see either of them again," I said decidedly. "I was getting tired of their little games." Josh's smug face when he met me at work the week before flashed into my mind, and I wondered if he was still playing games – only with different stakes.

Sam's voice jolted me back to reality. "I'm glad you didn't fall for one of David's lines." His tone was a little too casual.

I looked up at him in surprise. "He's not my type." I could have sworn we'd had this discussion before.

"That's right, you already told me that." Sam slowed down to let a woman bustling toward us past. "So if David, charm-meister extraordinaire, wasn't your type, then what are you looking for when you go out on a date? What kind of person do you see making you happy for the rest of eternity?"

It would have been so easy to say, "someone like you," but I managed to swallow those words. "I don't know," I said slowly. "Someone solid, who's willing to work for what he wants. And someone patient, because sometimes I can be a little dense."

Sam made a strange noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"And someone who likes me the way I am," I concluded, "and doesn't want to change me to fit some ridiculous sense of womanly perfection he's been fed by the media since the day he learned what television was all about."

Unable to keep it inside any longer, Sam started to laugh. "I like your definition," he said when he'd managed to get himself under a semblance of control. "I wasn't laughing at you, really. It's just that I've never heard a girl be so honest about what she wants from her husband."

Here was that marriage thing again. Maybe I really had been transported back two hundred years to Regency England. They were all obsessed with getting hitched.

"What about you?" I demanded. "What're _you_ looking for when you go out on a date?"

Sam stopped walking and turned to look at me. The old-fashioned street lamp behind me made him seem very intense. "I'd say I was looking for someone honest and caring. Someone who wasn't so impressed with her own talents that she didn't have time to see them in others. And someone who makes me laugh." He reached out and touched my cheek. "Doesn't sound so unattainable, does it?" he murmured, his fingers lingering on my skin.

I could hardly breathe. "No, it doesn't."

His lips turned up in a half-smile. "I didn't think so, either." Ever so slowly, he bent his head down to mine. I closed my eyes as he drew nearer, and exhaled softly when his lips brushed my cheek. It was the most romantic kiss I'd ever received – and it wasn't even on my lips.

I replayed his words over and over all night long. It seemed we'd crossed some sort of invisible line during our date, but I didn't know what that line was.

For the first time since I'd met him, Sam no longer reminded me of Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy reminded me of Sam.

**Author's note**: This is a long chapter so I won't waste your time with idle chitchat. Thanks as usual to Linnea (golf goddess) and CJ!

Leave me a comment if you feel so inclined!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

I was back on the Monon Trail with Sam, his hand clasped firmly around mine. He'd just stopped to smolder at me when the fire alarm went off.

He dropped my hand like it was scorching him and backed away, his eyes twinkling in mirth. "What's the problem this time, Katie?" he asked, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "I guess there's only one thing to do." Then he reached his hand out as far as it would go and pushed me in the creek. The fire alarm kept pealing, and the water had a strange odor to it. It smelled almost like . . . like . . .

Dog breath. I sat up in a rush, realizing that the fire alarm was really my cell phone and the landline going at the same time and that Mr. P was standing next to the bed. My cell phone was in his mouth. I was glad it wasn't on vibrate.

Mr. P dropped the phone on the bed and stared at me while I picked both it and the home phone up, answering them at the same time with a croaky "hello?" I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have done this had I been more awake, but the disturbing images of Sam tossing me in the water were pretty hard to ignore – even if I'd been dreaming them.

"Miss Embury! Where are you?"

My eyes popped fully open and I stared around the room. How had Mr. Selman gotten into the house? His voice seemed to be coming from every direction. "Mr. Selman? Where are _you_?"

"I just asked you that, Miss Embury."

Finally registering that he was calling on both phones at the same time, I relaxed back into my pillow. It must be some dire emergency if he took the trouble to dial two phones simultaneously – and then talk on them.

"I'm still in bed, sir. It's not even seven." It was very disconcerting to talk on two phones at the same time, but I didn't dare put one down in the fear that it'd be the wrong one. "Am I supposed to be somewhere?"

He made an impatient noise. "We're having the event at the theatre tonight," he reminded me in a tight voice. "I told Sam you had to be here today."

Even through the sleepy fog in my brain I managed to wonder exactly how much Mr. Selman knew about his son's social life. "Sam didn't say anything to me last night." I sighed and struggled back into a sitting position. "Where do you need me, and when?"

I could hear Mr. Selman talking to someone in the background, and then he was back. "Don't bother doing anything this morning," he said grumpily. "Sam says he doesn't need you right now." Humph. What was Sam doing at work this early in the morning? And anyway, it was Saturday. I technically hadn't overslept. "I understand you had a late night, and I want you looking your best this evening. Be at the Hilbert Circle Theatre by five on the dot, and make sure you look sharp. I want you to dazzle some of our guests."

"Yes, sir," I said just before he hung up. It takes a certain amount of talent to end calls on two phones at the same time.

I tried to go back to sleep, but between the events of the night before and Mr. Selman's call, it was hard to keep my mind from spinning. When Mr. Selman had informed me I wasn't going on any more 'boondoggle' trips, I'd assumed I was exempt from all extracurricular activities, so to speak. Why had all that changed now? And what was I supposed to wear to an event where I was expected to look decent but on the job? I had an idea (after all, I wasn't a complete fashion idiot no matter what Josie claimed) but it'd be nice to have a second opinion. Oliver didn't count.

Fortunately, Junie and Addy came by that afternoon. "We haven't seen you since your sister was here," Junie told me a little accusingly, dropping the baby carrier on the floor with a thump and moving Addy to her other shoulder. I glanced at the carrier with a bit of skepticism. It seemed like all mothers of small babies had these things, but the baby was rarely inside. Maybe it was some sort of heavy, awkward accessory they gave you before you left the hospital, and then made you promise to carry it around until said baby was too big to fit inside.

"I'm sorry," I said, rubbing Addy's fuzzy head. "I've been a little busy with work. I'm glad you're here, though," I added as she followed me into the kitchen to pet Mr. P. "I have to be at the theatre tonight for work and I need a second opinion on my wardrobe."

She shook a finger at me mockingly. "It seems like that's all I do when I come over here," she scolded good-naturedly.

"What's that?"

"Clothes advice. You're going to have to trust your own instincts eventually, you know."

I grimaced. "I know that. But since you're the best next-door neighbor a girl could ever hope for, I'd much rather rely on your expert opinion."

Junie laughed. "You're horrible. All right, tell Miss Junie what the current situation is and I'll see what I can do."

An hour later Junie had made me model all of the contents of Bea's downstairs closet that she considered 'party worthy' three times and had finally agreed that I'd been right in the first place. "That shade of red looks great on you," she told me, circling around me with a critical eye before halting in front of me to grin in a very self-satisfied manner.

"I don't know what you're so smug about. And besides, I was never unsure of the dress itself. It was the color that was making me second-guess myself. It's hard to blend into the scenery when I resemble a candy apple."

"It looks great," Junie pronounced over my protests. "Now stop yapping and hop in the shower. You can hardly go to the symphony with bed head."

"Yes, mother," I said and vanished into the bedroom. I laughed when I heard one of Addy's stuffed toys hit the door with a soft thump.

When I emerged half an hour later, scrubbed and smelling nice again (Junie was right about needing a shower, but I wasn't going to tell her I'd put it off as long as I could so I could catch a whiff of Sam's cologne-and-soap scent until the last possible minute) the two Fredericks girls were in the sunroom playing with a delighted Mr. P.

"We love big red doggies, don't we, Addy?" Junie crooned as the baby tried to grab Mr. P's thumping tail. She had her mouth open wide, and I was pretty sure I knew where that tail would go if she managed to get a hand on it.

"Is that sanitary?" I asked, plopping myself down on the sofa where I could watch. "His weekly bath is about a week overdue."

Junie grinned at me. "Oh, she can't catch Mr. P. He's too fast." Just as she said that Addy managed to get a few tail hairs in her little fist and Mr. P let out a startled yelp. Junie pulled Addy away and looked up at me ruefully. "Never mind," she said, patting Mr. P on the head. "She's getting more determined every day."

"Determination can be good sometimes," I said slowly, thinking that in some cases it could be downright annoying – and a little scary. "Have you ever known someone that made you feel funny inside when you talked to them?" I asked.

"Funny good, or funny bad?"

"Definitely bad."

She leaned back against the chair next to me, the baby nestled snugly in her lap and out of reach of Mr. P's tail. All traces of humor and teasing had disappeared from her face. "I have," she answered. "But not very often, and usually only when I'd visit my dad at work. Why? Who's giving you the creeps?"

I rubbed my forehead in a gesture that reminded me of Oliver as soon as I'd started. "Josh, Jessica's brother. He and I went out once and ever since then – well, ever since he found out where I work – he's tried to get me to go out again. Even when I called him a Neanderthal he still kept trying. It freaks me out. I don't know why; he doesn't seem to like me all that much, which makes it feel even funnier. And he's always asking me about Mr. Selman. It wouldn't bother me so much, but the last time I saw him he was almost hostile."

Junie leaned forward again. She was beginning to resemble a seesaw. "Hostile? Has he threatened you?"

I'd forgotten that Junie was a detective's daughter, and that she'd picked up a number of his character traits before he retired. "No." I drew the word out. "Not in so many words. But he's been obsessed with Mr. Selman's Ferrari and his golf game, and last week I saw his old, beat-up Corvette outside the building with a set of golf clubs inside. I can't help but think that something's going on."

Her eyes narrowed, Junie sat back and patted Addy absently on the back. "Would you mind if I had Dad do a little investigative work?" she asked. "He's been driving my mom crazy ever since he retired, and I know he'd love a reason to get his hands dirty again. And you never know," she added. "He may just be a regular guy with a misplaced hero complex."

I felt a bit relieved. "That would be great," I said, beaming at her. "Like I said before, Junie, you're the best next-door neighbor a girl could ever want. I may have to build a hut in your back yard when George and Bea come home from their trip so I can still live nearby."

Junie's smile was mysterious. "You never know, Katie," she said, looking me straight in the eye. "By the time they come home you could have made other, more permanent living arrangements."

I had no idea what she was trying to say, and didn't even bother asking. "If you say so."

She laughed and stood up. "I'd better get going," she said, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. "I need to get dinner started or we'll never eat. Have fun tonight, and tell that man of yours to behave himself when he sees you in that dress!"

"What man is that?" I asked. I was pretty sure I hadn't told her about my date with Sam.

She looked at me strangely. "Weren't you the one that was interested in Sam Selman? I assumed he was the reason you were so anxious about your wardrobe."

She was awfully perceptive. I watched as she gathered Addy's toys and stuffed them in her bag.

"And if I'm right, and I'm pretty sure I am, then maybe you'll be making alternate living arrangements before the Butterworths get back. After all, from what I understand, Sam is quite the catch!"

She had Addy in her carrier and was down the front walkway before I'd had time to think of a smart comeback. For a person with a baby in tow, she sure moved fast.

***

Mr. Selman was waiting for me when I walked into the lobby at exactly five o'clock. "What took you so long?" he demanded. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he turned on his heel and stalked into the theatre, leaving me to scurry along behind him.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked, trying to catch my breath. I'd had a hard time finding a parking space and had had to leave my car in the mall's underground parking lot. I'd had to run all the way, a hard thing to do in heels.

"Just make yourself useful," he snapped over his shoulder. "And stay with me. There are people here I want you to meet, and I don't want to have to chase you all over the place."

So my role tonight was to be a shadow. I could do that.

A few minutes before the event started someone dropped a glass on the marble floor, and I ran over to help clean up the mess. To my surprise, Sam beat me there.

"What happened?" I asked in a low voice so I wouldn't disturb Mr. Selman as he shouted last-minute instructions to anyone who would listen.

Sam was looking a little dazed. He pulled me to the side as someone materialized with a broom and swept up the mess. "It just slipped through my fingers," he murmured back, his fingers curving around my elbow. "You look stunning in that dress."

I could feel myself blushing, but for some reason I didn't mind. I glanced at him surreptitiously as he led me away from the noise. I'd never seen him in a suit before, and he looked so good I had to swallow hard before I could get any sound out of my vocal cords. "Thanks. Your dad told me to look nice."

"I'd say you did a great job." His gaze was appreciative as his eyes swept down to my shoes and back to my face.

Those same butterflies that had been partying in my stomach the night before were back in full force, and a delighted shiver made the hairs on my arms stand up as he leaned in closer.

I could have sworn he was on the verge of kissing me on the cheek when Mr. Selman's booming voice reverberated off the walls. "Miss Embury! I thought I told you to stay near me!"

Sam pulled back with a resigned look on his face. "Back to work," he sighed. "Good luck with the boss tonight. If you need to be rescued rub your forehead like you do when you're frustrated and I'll see what I can do."

We smiled at each other and went our separate ways. Evidently I was more like Oliver than I thought – and Sam had noticed my forehead rubbing.

The evening was a blur of handshakes and polite conversation. Halfway through the evening, while Mr. Selman was busy chatting to someone whose name I couldn't remember, I felt something brush against my bottom. When I turned my head to see what I'd inadvertently backed into, David was behind me.

"I can see what Sam finds so attractive about you," he murmured, standing so close to me that I could see a faint scar under his chin. "I wonder what he'd think if I did something rude."

"You mean like sneaking up on someone and touching their rear?" I narrowed my eyes and stared at him pointedly.

He just smirked at me. "No, I'd never do that. I was thinking more along the lines of this." Then I felt him pinch me, and before I could whirl around to tell him to keep his hands to himself he was gone. Instead, I was left staring into the jovial eyes of Frank Chance.

"Katie! So good to see you!" He bent down to kiss me on the cheek, and I rubbed the spot David had pinched while Frank was preoccupied. "I haven't heard from you in at least three days. I was starting to think you didn't love me anymore!"

I laughed weakly. I was going to give David – and maybe his father, while I was at it -- a piece of my mind as soon as I was finished making pleasantries with Frank. "You know that's not true, Frank. What're you doing here?"

He looked mildly offended. "Attending a party. What are you doing here?"

I shrugged and glanced around the room. It was packed with people, all milling about and chattering to one another. "Beats me. I don't even know what event we're catering. All I know is that I was told to get dressed up and be here this evening to mingle, so here I am."

Frank's eyes traveled the same path down my dress as Sam's had earlier, but for some reason when he did it I just wanted to roll my eyes. "You're simply the most ravishing personal assistant in the building," he told me, taking a step closer. "I can see why Selman wants you near him. You're like the perfect accessory – you make any man look twice as successful as he really is."

This time I did roll my eyes. "Please. Do they teach you how to be smarmy and flattering on your days off?"

His eyes got a mischievous twinkle in them, and he glanced around the room before he leaned in close enough to whisper in my ear, "Who says I'm not working?"

"Miss Embury, you're needed elsewhere." Sam's hand was magically on my back.

I swore I heard Frank chuckle as he drew back. "As always, it was a pleasure talking to you, Katie." He winked at me one last time and melted into the crowd.

We stood there for a few seconds, Sam and I, until I finally looked up at him. He was scowling into the mass of people around us. "What do you need me for?" I asked.

"What?" I could tell he wasn't really paying attention to me.

"You said you needed me for something. What do you want me to do?"

Sam dragged his gaze back to me. He didn't look happy in the slightest. "You looked like you needed to be rescued," he told me, pushing me through the crowd and out into the hallway.

"I didn't rub my forehead, did I?" Had I? "Did I look like I needed help?"

Sam's scowl got fiercer. "Not by the time I got to you. What did David do to you?"

Well, that explained a lot. No wonder he looked so angry. "He pinched my bum," I said, getting mad again at the reminder. "Does he do that to all the employees, or am I just special?"

Sam's grip on my elbow tightened. "He knew I was watching, and did it to irritate me. And no, he doesn't do it to all the girls that work for the company, just the ones that ignore his other advances."

"So I'm not the first?"

His eyes were fierce. "No, but you're the only one that hasn't fallen for one of his lines."

"I could sue him for sexual harassment, you know."

Eyebrows raised, Sam looked me straight in the eye. "If you feel like that's what you need to do, go right ahead. I'm surprised no one else has done it yet."

"Maybe I will."

He let go of my arm and leaned against the wall, looking very weary. "I know you can take care of yourself," he said. "But Chance was getting in your face, too, and after David's little performance I didn't want you to feel more uncomfortable than you already were."

"Thanks." I sighed and leaned next to him. "But Frank wasn't bothering me. I think he's funny, in a big brother sort of way."

Sam half-smiled. "Good to know. Have you seen anyone else from the track here tonight?"

"Just Frank and Mark Anderson, Josh's boss."

"He's here, you know."

"Of course he's here," I said in surprise. "I was just talking to him."

"Not Chance, Haskins. He's been leering at you for the past half hour."

Oh, for Pete's sake. That was just what I needed. All the irritation that David had inspired transferred right over to Josh. "What's he doing here?" I demanded, craning my neck to look around the door and into the main room. "He doesn't really seem like the type that would go for classical music, and I didn't think he was high up enough in the museum's hierarchy to get invited to something like this."

"Tell me about it. The only thing I can think is that they're scoping out what we can do."

Again? "Well, maybe they'll be impressed and then the whole lot of them will go away. What time are we supposed to end, anyway?" I could only manage to avoid Josh for so long, especially wearing a dress this red.

"Not until ten." He draped his arm loosely around my shoulders and I let myself lean into him. A girl could get used to this, I thought -- a handsome, attentive man that cared enough about you to make sure you were happy. And, evidently, unattached.

"Then I guess I only have an hour or so to avoid Josh."

"Are you finished with your mingling duties?"

I shrugged. I still didn't know exactly who I was supposed to be impressing. "As far as I know."

Sam grinned down at me, and his arm drew me a little closer. "Then come help me instead. I need someone to help me oversee things."

"But I don't know the first thing about catering a party."

"So? You can learn as we go." He twisted his hand around to pull gently on a strand of hair that had come loose over my ear. "Can I tell you a secret? I'm kind of glad you didn't wear your hair down today."

I was having a hard time thinking. Not thinking coherently, just thinking at all. "Really? Why?"

He watched my hair curl loosely around his finger. "Because now I can think you just leave it down for me." Then he bent his head and brushed a kiss so light I could barely feel it on top of my head. "Are you ready to avoid Josh?"

An hour and a half later, the only guests left were the ones from the track, and the rest of us were starting to clean up when Mr. Selman appeared in the middle of the room with Mark Anderson at his side. Mr. Selman looked so smug I would have sworn he'd just won the lottery. "May I have your attention?" he bellowed.

After he was sure everyone was paying sufficient attention to him, he stepped forward until he was in the exact center of the room. "I have good news. Mr. Anderson just informed me that Peter's Perfect Catering has won exclusive catering rights to all events held at the track."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then people started cheering and hollering at each other. Mr. Selman waved Mark Anderson forward to shake his hand. In the midst of all this I saw Josh sidle into the room, looking almost as pleased with himself as Mr. Selman did. He caught my eye and lifted his half-empty glass in my direction before taking a huge swig of its contents and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes seemed to have found a resting point on my cleavage, and I could feel my spine stiffening.

"What's wrong?" Sam murmured into my ear.

I kept my eyes on Josh until he turned his attention to our bosses, who seemed to be having a business meeting in the middle of a celebration. "Nothing," I said, rubbing my forehead unconsciously. Sam grasped my wrist and looked at me pointedly, but didn't say anything. Instead, he laced his fingers through mine and squeezed.

Half an hour later we'd just finished packing everything up. I had no idea it was so hard to jam used kitchenware into trucks. Andre caught my eye and wiped his hands on his apron.

"Can you believe it?" he asked, shaking his head. "Sole rights to the track. I usually leave by now, but someone said there's going to be a party at the office when we're done and I'd hate for all of you to be hungry."

This was a surprise. "I had no idea you were such a softie, Andre. Has someone spiked your drink?"

He made a droll face. "Very funny. I'm really doing it so the rest of you don't eat everything in sight. I still have events next week, and it'd break my heart to have to make you explain to the boss man that the reason we're out of food is because a bunch of hungry hooligans broke into the kitchen and ate all the good stuff." He winked and started to laugh. "If I could make David do the explaining, I might just leave you to your own devices."

"You don't like David, then?"

Andre shrugged. "He gets on my nerves, that's all. Are you coming along for the fun?"

I was about to tell him that what I really wanted to do was go home and lose the shoes, but just then I saw Sam across the parking lot. He was helping load something heavy onto a truck, his suit coat gone and his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He glanced over at me and tilted his head toward the exit with a questioning look.

"I guess I am," I sighed dreamily. What were hurt feet when you're with Mr. Darcy? I could always walk around barefoot when we got there.

Andre groaned softly and closed the box. "I hate office romances," he muttered under his breath.

Don't confess anything, I told myself sternly. "What are you talking about?"

He jerked his head in Sam's direction. "I suddenly think that my poor brother isn't as right for you as I'd thought. I hope he's not too heartbroken."

I just patted him on the back in false sympathy.

Sam insisted on walking me to my car, even though I protested that it was only a few blocks away. "It doesn't matter what you say, Katie," he said over my protests in a decided voice. "If you won't let me walk next to you I'll just follow behind."

I couldn't help grinning at him. "You're persistent, aren't you?"

"And you're stubborn. Come on, we'll miss half the party if we stand out here and argue."

I have to admit, walking down the street all dressed up while holding Sam's hand has its merits. "What do you make of the announcement tonight?" I asked.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I was hoping that nothing would come of all this track business, and that Dad would find something else to focus on. It actually seemed like things were dying down for a while, and then, out of the blue, the track started calling again."

I knew that. I was the one that answered Mr. Selman's phone. "And?"

Staring up at the night sky, Sam shrugged. "And then came the announcement. I don't suppose you saw it coming."

I shook my head, and we lapsed into a companionable silence. I can't speak for what was going through Sam's mind, but mine was focused on how GQ he looked with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

I made him get in the car so I could drive him back to the theatre so he could pick up his, and he wrinkled his nose at all the yellow inside. "I still can't believe I thought yellow was your favorite color," he said ruefully.

"How were you supposed to know? _I_ was surprised when George and Bea showed up at my parents' house in this thing. I should have guessed it, though," I added, pulling out of the parking lot and driving down the street. "Their last name _is_ Butterworth, after all."

A snort of laughter came from Sam's direction. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I think they do the yellow thing out of principle."

By the time we got back to the catering company the party was in full swing, and Andre was just leaving. "I'm glad you're finally here," he said, looking over his shoulder as he walked toward us. "I made a bunch of sandwiches and stuff, but I'm leaving my brother to watch over things and he might need some help remembering why he's here." Andre reached out and plucked a shorter, thinner version of himself from the cluster of people behind him. "This is Pete."

Pete scowled at Andre and wrenched his arm away. He wiped his hands on his trousers, sending a small cloud of dog hairs flying. Sam sighed when he had to let go of my hand so I could shake Pete's. "The pleasure is all mine," he said in a surprisingly squeaky voice.

I raised my eyebrows at Andre, and hid my hands behind my back so Pete couldn't see me trying to shake the dog hair from them. What was it with people trying to set me up with boys who weren't my type? First there was Oliver and Josh, and all I'd heard from Andre since I'd met him was how wonderful his brother was. The best thing I could think of about Pete after a first meeting was that he'd be much more attractive with a few less canines. Of course, Mr. Darcy hadn't made a good first impression, either, but I'd bet my chocolate-chip cookie recipe that he never had sweaty palms or a pimple on the bridge of his nose.

Andre beamed at me before turning back to Pete. "Don't forget," he said in a voice that spoke of years of elder brother privilege, "your job is to make sure my kitchen doesn't burn down. I want to find it in the same state I left it in. No exceptions."

I had a hard time keeping a straight face as the two brothers glared at each other. Sam reclaimed my hand and I smiled at them. "I'm sure he'll do you proud," I told Andre.

"Right," they chorused before their voices were drowned out by the music thumping in the building.

I followed Sam through the building until we were outside his little office. "I hope you don't mind," he said, "but I need to put my jacket somewhere safe."

"Do you care if I lose the shoes?" When he grinned I kicked them into a corner and wriggled my toes. "That's much better," I sighed. "Now all I need is a bathroom and I'll be just about perfect."

A funny expression flitted across Sam's face, and he regarded me seriously before he said anything. "I don't think you need any help with that."

As we walked down the hall, Sam draped his arm across my shoulders again, and this time I rested my head against his shirt. "I always forget how short you are," Sam said idly. "With those heels you're almost up to my chin, but without them, you barely reach my navel."

"I think you're exaggerating."

Sam chuckled. "Maybe. But only a little."

He led me into Mr. Selman's office and pushed the bathroom door open for me. "I'll wait out here until you're done," he said, lowering himself into a chair and crossing his feet at the ankles. He looked very comfortable.

"Don't you think your dad'll get mad if he finds me using his bathroom?"

Sam shrugged. "He won't show up tonight. He's probably out celebrating with the race people."

I puttered around a long time in that bathroom. It had all sorts of nice-smelling soaps, and I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out how to unlock the mystery door. When it was obvious that I wasn't going to find it, I washed my hands one last time and opened the door.

Sam was still in his chair, but his comfortable pose was gone. He was shaking his head and talking to someone I couldn't see from my perch in the doorway. I couldn't figure out how I hadn't heard him talking, but when I glanced at the light switch I realized the fan was tied to the light. "I don't think that's such a good idea," he said, looking like he was reaching the end of his patience. "It will look suspiciously like gloating."

""Of course it won't." Mr. Selman's voice made me jump. "It will just be a party thrown by a party-throwing man. There's nothing wrong with that."

I cleared my throat and stepped into the room. "Hello, sir. Congratulations on your contract."

Mr. Selman beamed at me and came over to kiss me on both cheeks. Evidently I'd been forgiven for whatever I'd done to tick him off earlier in the week. "Thank you, Miss Embury. I'm glad you're here. I need your help in organizing a party."

The butterflies that danced so joyously in my stomach when I was with Sam did a horrible nose dive into my spleen. "I don't think I'm exactly qualified for that, sir," I said cautiously. "I'm sure you have a party-planner or something that would be able to – "

Mr. Selman waved his hand dismissively. "I don't need you to plan the party," he said, obviously forgetting that that was exactly what he'd said only seconds earlier. "I need you to help me get the guest list settled, and to make sure the house is ready."

"You're having this at the house?" Sam's tone was incredulous.

His eyes rolling, Mr. Selman sat in the chair behind his desk. I stood there awkwardly for a second before Sam wearily patted the seat next to him. "Not the house in Carmel, Sam," he snapped. "I mean the house where you grew up, in Brown County."

"But no one's been there all summer," Sam objected. "It'd take days to get it ready."

Mr. Selman leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers complacently. "That's why I'm sending you and Miss Embury down first thing Monday morning," he said. "You can get everything ready while I finalize things up here, and then, in two weeks' time, I'll come down and we'll have the biggest, grandest party anyone's ever seen."

Sam and I sat there in shock while he tapped at his computer. "Are you going to send David to the Governor's Ball in my place?" Sam asked finally. All the fight seemed to have drained from him, and he sounded almost defeated.

Mr. Selman frowned and glanced at his calendar. "No," he said slowly. "David will attend, of course, but I'd like you to go in my place. I'm sure Miss Embury wouldn't mind being your date again." He stared at me pointedly, and I could feel my cheeks burning.

"Of course," Sam sighed. He glanced at me and smiled weakly. "If we're all done here, I think I'll escort Katie back to the party. She promised Andre to keep an eye on his baby brother."

Sam was silent on our way back to his office. He closed the door behind us and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest. "You don't have to go to that stupid ball with me if you don't want to," he said. "I would understand if you didn't."

I cocked my head to the side and regarded him. "What would I be expected to do as your date to a fancy shin-dig?"

His frown lines eased somewhat. "Laugh at my jokes, make me look more successful than I really am, that sort of thing. And dance with me a few times, at least until I break one of your toes."

I pulled my feet under my chair without thinking about it. "I could do those things," I told him. "I'm guessing I'd have to dress up again."

Sam's eyes got a far-away look to them. "You would. I'm afraid it's black tie. Do you have anything?"

Up until a few weeks ago I'd have had to say no, but that black dress currently hanging in Bea's spare closet might be just the thing. "As it happens, I do."

Sam grinned for the first time since I'd disappeared into Mr. Selman's bathroom. "Then, unless you have any objections, it's a date."

The party passed by in a blur of music and escorting Pete back to the kitchens. All I could think about was that finally, after years of dreaming, I'd be attending the Netherfield Ball.

Only this time, Mr. Darcy had asked me to go with him.

And no matter what happened, I'd make sure I didn't bring up any unpleasant subjects. After all, I wanted my _Pride and Prejudice_ ending.

Only without that horrid proposal.

_Author's note_: Well, we're off to Northanger Abbey! Thanks yet again go to Linnea for beta-ing for me during an insane schedule, and of course to CJ.

Let me know what you think; I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

I glanced at my watch for what felt like the hundredth time and sighed quietly before turning my attention back to Mr. Selman, who was still pontificating about future track events.

Sam's foot nudged my heel and my shoe fell to the floor with a soft thud. He bent over to pick it up before I could move, and when he handed it to me there was a sly sparkle in his eye – and a note stuck inside my shoe.

Once my feet were shod again I unfolded the paper and read, 'I bet you never suspected that Sunday night meetings were in the job description.'

I smiled to myself and glanced at Sam. He was leaning forward in his chair, looking like every word that came out of his father's mouth was a tiny pearl of wisdom that needed to be committed to memory. He should have gone into acting. I just shook my head and tried to pay attention.

"We're not having this party at night, are we?" David slumped further into the seat and frowned at his phone. "I have something at ten."

Who planned things for ten o'clock at night? When he caught me gaping at him, he smiled slyly and added, "You're welcome to come along, Katie. It's so much more fun with extra people around."

"Shut up, Davie."

David frowned, but he recovered quickly and smirked at Sam. "Come on, Sammie. You know it's nice to share."

Sam's eyes blazed. "I'd like to see you try," he spat, his hands whitening around the chair's armrests.

"The party's in the afternoon, David. Haven't you been listening? Sam!" Mr. Selman turned his shocked gaze to his other son. "What do you think you're doing to my chair?"

From the look on Sam's face he knew exactly what he was doing but wasn't going to explain himself to anyone. He peeled his fingers off the leather, leaving marks. "I think it's about time we wrapped things up here," he said, his gaze remaining locked on his brother. "Especially if you want Katie and I to get an early start in the morning."

The two brothers glowered at each other over the top of my head. I smiled sweetly at Mr. Selman in an attempt to divert his attention. "Do you have anything else, sir?"

"Just one thing. Hannah will be driving down to help over the weekend after the Governor's Ball Friday night."

This was not necessarily bad news. If I was completely honest with myself, I was a little nervous about living in the same house with Sam for two weeks straight. He'd never seen me with bed head before, and if Hannah was around I could enlist her help in keeping me presentable. I'd still have tons of alone time with Sam.

"Is that really necessary, sir?" Sam's voice was bland, but his foot was twitching spastically. No, make that rhythmically. Did he have his iPod hidden somewhere?

Mr. Selman regarded him in surprise. "I thought you'd be glad to have the extra help," he commented. "Wasn't it you who said there was no way the house would be ready in time? I decided it would be a good idea for the entire family to attend the Governor's event, and it seemed logical to send Hannah to help the two of you afterwards." He sipped his sparkling water with a knowing expression on his face.

Sam finally gave in, but only after David offered to come down in Hannah's place "for all the heavy lifting."

"That's fine, David." Sam's voice was icy. "I think we can handle things down there without your particular brand of expertise. I'm sure your other engagements will keep you busy in the city." The look he shot his older brother was malicious – a look I'd never seen on him before.

"As it happens, you're right." David laced his fingers behind his head and smiled smugly. "I may not even see you until the Governor's Ball. I'll expect a dance from the lovely Miss Embury, of course."

"I don't know if I can fit you on my dance card," I told him, a delicious tingle going down my back. Playing Miss Bennet was proving to be much more fun than I'd ever imagined. Who would have thought I'd ever be in a position to _have_ a dance card? (All right, I knew I wasn't going to, but it was still fun to pretend.) "I have a very important date, and I'd hate to disappoint him. Maybe another time."

Sam's sudden grin made those blasted butterflies flutter wildly in my digestive juices, and I couldn't stop myself from grinning back at him.

"That's right, David. But I wouldn't count on there being another time."

David just shrugged and flipped open his phone.

***

I was on my way out the door to meet Sam at the catering company Monday morning when the phone rang, and I grabbed it just as my suitcase fell on my toe.

"Ow!" I squawked into the phone, jumping up and down.

"Katie? Is that you?"

I tried very hard not to swear, but man, that hurt. "Yeah, this is Katie." I glanced at the kitchen clock: 8:03. I was already three minutes late, and I hadn't even left the house yet. I hoped Sam hadn't included 'punctual' on his list of qualities he wanted in a girl.

"I know I'm calling early," Junie said, sounding only mildly apologetic, "but I heard back from my dad about that Josh guy last night and I thought you'd want to know what he discovered before you left this morning."

Why was it that mothers with small children all assume that the rest of us are as awake at unseemly hours as they are? Junie sounded disgustingly alert, and I was barely propping my eyes open. Maybe she'd never gone to sleep at all and she was just high on sugar. I'd heard that could happen.

"I was on my way out the door, but I have a second," I sighed, glancing at the clock again. With every tick of the clock I was inching closer and closer to a state of totally and complete hypocrisy. I'd just have to remember to call Sam as soon as I could. I made a mental note to buy a cordless phone the next time I was at the store; at the rate I was going, I'd get to the party after it started next week. I plopped down on the same suitcase that had tried to mangle my foot and rubbed my forehead. If I kept this up, I wouldn't have any skin left on it and I'd have to start on another body part. "What've you heard?"

Junie took a deep breath. "Well, quite a bit, actually. He was kicked out of Purdue for cheating on his senior thesis. I guess he stole the idea, and the bulk of the research, from a student who'd graduated several years earlier."

"You mean he plagiarized the most important paper he'd write in his college career?"

Junie chuckled. "You could say that. And then, when he started digging deeper, the professor that caught him discovered that he'd been cheating since he entered school, even in his general ed classes."

For some reason this was not terribly surprising. "Maybe he was too lazy to do the work himself," I mused.

"Or maybe he's just a nasty, rotten person. Since he was kicked out he's held a string of entry-level jobs that barely pay minimum wage, and has been living with his mother in Speedway."

I knew about his living arrangements. "So when did he start working for the track? I could have sworn he'd said he'd worked there for a few years."

I could hear shuffling papers in the background, accompanied by the sound of a plastic spoon banging on a tray. "Is that Addy?"

"Mm. It looks like Josh has only been working at the track for six months or so. He memorized that pamphlet thing they give you about the track – " I snorted – "and they hired him to do the tours. It's strange, though," she added. "It seems that he's been getting more and more responsibility in the past few weeks or so."

I frowned and chewed on my thumbnail. It was strange that Josh wouldn't have gloated about that, if not to me then at least to Jessica – and, by association, to Oliver. "He has been showing up at functions he normally wouldn't, but every time I've seen him recently he's spent so much time being snide and rude that he hasn't had any left over for gloating about a new position."

"Sounds like a real winner."

"You have no idea. I keep hoping that he'll get bored and move on to someone else, but I haven't been that lucky. Thanks for the information, though. Can I call you if I think of anything else? Your dad doesn't mind, does he?"

Junie laughed. "He was so glad to have something productive to do that he'll be thrilled if you need more help. My mom will, too. He was so bored a few weeks ago that he cleaned out the basement for her and threw away everything she wanted to keep. He thought he was being helpful."

I thought of my dad and his penchant for fixing cars. "I think my mom and yours have something in common. Hey, I'm sorry to cut this short but I'm now twenty minutes late. Are you sure you don't mind walking Mr. P for me while I'm gone?"

At the sound of his name Mr. P raised his head from its perch on his paws and blinked dolefully at me. If he'd been unhappy when I was gone all day, I couldn't imagine what he'd be like when I was gone for weeks at a time. I hoped Oliver knew what he was in for. "We're sure," Junie said, sounding more confident than I felt. "If he's not there when you get back, we've dog napped him."

"Oliver might notice," I told her drily. "And you're not taking care of him, just providing him with a little extra love."

She sighed. "I know, I know. There are times I wish Mr. P had tried to eat my mailbox instead of the Butterworth's. I'll expect to hear all about your trip when you get back, and I'll want to see pictures!"

"Thanks, Junie. Tell Fred I said 'hey', and give Addy a kiss for me."

I tossed my camera in my purse and ruffled Mr. P behind the ears as I called Sam. He answered on the first ring.

"Katie? Are you okay?"

I couldn't help grinning at the sound of his voice. "I'm running a little late," I said, knowing that twenty minutes was technically more than a 'little' late. I pulled my suitcase out the back door with one last look at Mr. P, who was studiously ignoring me. "I'm afraid I'm just leaving the house now, so I won't be there for another twenty minutes or so. Please don't hate me."

His laugh sounded relieved. "I could never hate you, Katie, but I was beginning to think you were having second thoughts about the whole ordeal," he said. "I'm glad to know it was just a packing thing."

Not exactly, but I was hardly going to confess that I'd been talking to an informant. There was no way in the world that would sound unsuspicious. Or normal. Of course, Sam now thought I put way more thought into the contents of my suitcase than I actually had. "I'll see you in a few," I said and slammed the trunk closed.

"Don't worry about it," Sam said easily. "We don't have to be there at any particular time, regardless of what the boss says."

That was easy for him to say. I was grumbling to myself as I sped down the street (hoping Officer Fredericks was safely in his kitchen feeding his daughter some sort of mush) when I slammed on the brakes.

There, standing next to his car, were Jessica and David, making out with reckless abandon.

In the middle of a rather narrow street.

It looked like they were trying to squeeze into each other's skin through the mouth. They gave a whole new meaning to public displays of affection – assuming, naturally, that affection was what they were displaying. I had my doubts.

I honked and waited for them to move, but when they proved that face sucking effectively numbed the ear drums, I leaned out of the window and yelled, "Oy! Jessica! Get out of the way!"

I knew that wasn't exactly polite, but I was already late, and I really, really didn't want to see this.

Jessica cracked an eye open and fluttered her fingers at me. It was so tempting to just give them a little nudge that my foot lifted off the brake and the car slid forward an inch or two before I realized what I'd done.

There was a loud sucking sound as they disengaged, and David glanced over his shoulder at me. He smiled slowly. "Fancy seeing you here," he drawled before turning his attention back to a flushed Jessica. He dove in for another round of action and I averted my eyes until I heard his car door slam shut.

Jessica stood still in the middle of the road until he disappeared around the corner. When she turned to me her expression was very self-satisfied.

"I think I've finally found the real deal," she said, throwing her arms out in the air and twirling around.

"I'm very happy for you," I told her. "Now please move out of the way."

Her arms fell limply to her sides and she pouted. "Aren't you happy for me?"

I was happy she was no longer after my brother, but I was pretty sure that wasn't what she meant. I just rolled my eyes and let up on the brake again. "If David's the kind of man you've been looking for all your life, then sure, I'm very glad you found each other. He seems like just your type. Now, please, get out of the street."

She shrugged and sidled toward the curb as slowly as she could. Both our heads jerked up when we heard a low rumbling sound. It seemed to be getting louder by the second.

I should have just ignored it, but I hesitated half a second too long – which was just long enough for a shiny red car to come careening down the street, straight at Jessica.

She shrieked and dashed to the sidewalk (finally; I should have thought of that) and the car screeched to a halt, its engine idling with a dull roar. The door opened slowly, and out stepped Josh.

Could this morning get any worse? And what was Josh doing in a fancy car? I tried to steer around the new contraption but Josh called my name and walked around to stand in the same spot that Jessica had just vacated.

"Aren't you going to take a look at my new ride?" He leaned into my open window and grinned. For some reason I clutched the top of my jacket tighter to my neck.

"It's lovely," I told him weakly without looking at the car. "I hadn't heard you were getting it."

He leaned in even further and leered at me. "I've been working on it for a while now. Kind of makes you wish you hadn't thrown me to the curb, doesn't it?" He laughed at his stupid joke. Then he spied my camera, lying on the seat next to me in my open bag. "I have a better idea. Why don't you take a picture of me with the car? That way you'll always remember what you let go."

At this point I was desperate. "Fine. But then I really have to go to work. I'm already late enough as it is."

He pulled away and sauntered to the front of the car where he leaned, with exaggerated casualness, against the hood. I almost asked him if he wanted to lie on it but caught myself in time. He gave me a look that I assumed was meant to imply a smolder and waited while I snapped a shot of him.

I sat back in my seat and had just finished with the seat belt when Josh reappeared at my window. "Don't you want a ride?" he asked, resting his hand on my shoulder. It seemed to sit a little lower than it should.

"Not really. Goodbye, Josh."

"Come on," he whispered, a knowing look in his eyes. "I bet that sap from the catering company doesn't have a ride like mine. You've never experienced such power under – "

I ducked under his arm and started to roll up the window. He must not have known that I didn't have the automatic kind that would stop when it sensed something was caught, because he just sat there with that smug look on his face. I rolled faster.

"What the -- ?" Josh finally clued in and wrenched his head out of the way just as the top of the window touched his neck. I wasn't surprised to see a few of his hairs get caught on his way out.

"You think you're so clever, Katie Embury," he spat through my now-closed window. "You just wait and see who has the last laugh." He kicked savagely at my rear tire as I drove off.

My blood was pounding in my ears all the way to the catering company, and by the time I pulled into the parking lot I was doing well over the posted speed limit. I skidded to a halt next to Sam's parked car and sat there for a second, not trusting myself to open my mouth without something horrid flying out.

Fortunately (for me, at least) Sam was on the phone when he walked toward me. "Sorry," he mouthed, pointing to his cell and grimacing. He knocked on the trunk with his free and I came around to unlock it, wrenching my bag out before he could. I just smiled at him tightly.

"I'll be right back," I mumbled, and hurried into the building. All I needed was a few minutes alone to splash cold water on my face and try to get Josh out of my head.

Agnes, unfortunately, was already there (although, since I didn't have a key to the building I should have been glad to see her) and she looked up slowly as I stomped through the lobby. I didn't bother saying anything – I hadn't said a word to her since she'd failed to pass on Sam's message all those weeks ago, and I was hardly going to start now – and stood in front of the door, tapping my foot.

She made a noise in her throat that resembled a sick duck, pushed the button, and proceeded to ignore me as studiously as I was her. Good for you, Agnes, I thought fiercely. I didn't even bother to wonder what she was doing there that early.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom five minutes later Sam was waiting for me at my desk, his expression a mixture between concern and awe. The concern won the fight – at first. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, getting to his feet. "I've never seen anyone drive that fast in a parking lot."

"I don't usually go skidding around corners, if that's what you mean." I knew the words came out a little too sharply the moment they left my lips, and I sank into the chair usually reserved for Sam. It felt weird to be on the other side of the desk for a change.

"I'm sorry," I said, leaning my forehead against the cool desk. It felt good against my flushed face. "I've had a rough morning."

I heard Sam coming toward me, and then his hands were gently rubbing my shoulders. "Already? It's only nine in the morning."

That explained why Agnes was here – she was on time. I was lucky I hadn't said anything. "I'm sorry I'm late." I seemed to be apologizing every time I opened my mouth.

"Stop apologizing." He pulled me back into a sitting position and rested my head back on his stomach. He even looked cute upside down. "Can I do anything to make you feel better?"

"You already have."

He smiled slightly and bent over. I swear he was going to kiss me, but at that moment (of course) the intercom buzzed and Agnes' snide voice filled the air. "Mr. Selman wants Katie to change the tape before you leave," she announced. If I didn't know any better I'd swear she knew she was interrupting something.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't straighten back up. "I'll tell her," he announced right before his lips brushed my forehead.

At this rate Sam would kiss every inch of my head before he got around to my lips, which were starting to feel slightly left out. Still, my nerve endings didn't seem to care, and my shoulders gave a delighted twitch.

"I guess I'd better change that tape so we can get out of here," I said, wondering if my voice sounded as squeaky to him as it did to me.

Ten minutes later we were on the road in Sam's car, Mr. Selman's tape tucked into my purse. I leaned my head against the headrest, closed my eyes, and sighed, letting all the morning's tension drain out of my body.

"Are you going to tell me what made you so uptight?" Sam's voice was soft.

I sighed again. Maybe I was developing a breathing disorder. "It started when I had to wait for Jessica and David to stop making out in the middle of the road so I could drive past them," I said slowly, trying to block my mind from those disturbing images. "And then Josh showed up in some new car, and he made me take a picture of it."

By this time we were on the freeway, and Sam swerved into another lane. Several cars honked at him. "Was he rude to you?"

I opened my eyes and blinked at him. "We _are_ talking about Josh Haskins, aren't we? I don't think he can open his mouth without something nasty coming out."

Sam snorted. "What kind of car did he get?"

What was it with men and cars? Why did they think everyone cared what they drove? "I don't know," I said testily. "I was too busy trying to think of a way to get around him without running him down to notice. You can see the picture if you want."

He held out his hand and I grabbed my camera, turning it to the shot I'd taken that morning. "Here it is."

He glanced at it (for maybe a millisecond) and passed it back to me. "It's a Corvette, probably a '67."

It must be a guy thing. "Are they rare?"

Sam shrugged. "Not rare enough to make them impossible to find, but they can be expensive. Maybe Josh's been saving up for it." He made a face. "That'd sort of be out of character, wouldn't it."

That was putting things mildly. "There are two things I can't figure out," I told him, picking up my purse and sticking the camera inside. "First off, how Josh managed to afford one."

"And second?"

"How you know so much about cars."

Sam laughed and sped up. "Everyone has hidden talents."

The word 'talent' meant different things to different people, evidently. "Yours must be an encyclopedic knowledge about automobiles."

"And yours is the ability to keep me on my toes. Among other things." He cleared his throat and rested his hand on the gearshift. "What book's in your bag?"

That was an obvious ploy to change the subject, but I wasn't dumb enough to insist he continue to list my good qualities. Who knew what he might come up with? I glanced down at my purse and fingered the book's spine. "_Pride and Prejudice_."

Sam shook his head. "I thought you finished that a while ago."

Boy, he had a lot to learn. "I read it over and over," I told him. "It's one of those books that bears repeating."

"Don't you read anything else?"

I shrugged and placed my bag back on the floor, _Pride and Prejudice_ resting safely in my lap. "Sometimes, but only when absolutely necessary."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Like when?"

I pulled a face. "Like when Josie hid it as an April Fool's joke this year and wouldn't tell me where it was until I threatened to tell her friends that she still sleeps with Winnie the Pooh."

Sam made a snorting, laughing noise. "Maybe I should be glad I don't have a little sister. They sound like a lot of work."

"You have no idea," I said fervently. "But in all honesty, Josie's not that bad. She's improved since I left home. What's your dad's house like?"

Sam must have been getting used to me, because he didn't bat an eye at my random question. "It's a house, rather large, in the middle of Brown County. What do you want to know?"

Why was it that men always seemed to gloss over the important details while dwelling on the boring parts? "What does it look like? How long did you live there? Do you wish you hadn't moved? Stuff like that."

It took a while for Sam to answer. "Well, to start off with, my parents built it just before I was born, so it's 28 years old or so."

This was turning into a very educational question and answer session.

"We lived there until my parents divorced when I was twelve, and yes, I sometimes wish we hadn't moved. Not so much recently, though." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I smiled at him.

"Well, if you still lived there I never would have met you."

"My point exactly." We sat there and grinned at each other like idiots until Sam remembered he was driving and turned his attention back to the road. "The house . . . the house is hard to describe. My mother decorated it."

That didn't tell me a whole lot. "Where _is_ your mom, by the way?"

Sam sighed. "In Arizona. She woke up one morning and decided she'd had it with Midwest winters, so she picked up and moved. I haven't seen her in a few months – work's been too busy to get away for very long – but she's happy, and there are lots of single men down there who are interested in mature women."

Maybe my mom wasn't as crazy as I'd thought. At least she hadn't moved halfway across the country to pick up on men. "That's where my uncle went after he retired. He took his wife with him, though."

Sam laughed. "He's probably safe from my mother. Anyway, about the house." He glanced at the book in my lap and smiled slowly. "It doesn't have a name, but what would you do if I told you it reminded me of Pemberley? Huge, set on a hill with a very pleasing prospect . . . " His eyes twinkled, and I jabbed him (very gently; he _was_ doing around 80) in the stomach.

"Very funny, Sam."

"No, seriously. Would you love me forever if the house had a lovely, charming housekeeper who took such good care of me that I had ample time to devote to making you happy? Or if I had a garage full of fancy cars, since horses are a little outmoded as a means of transportation? Or would you be awed by my loving heart if I'd just had a piano delivered for my sister?"

"I think you're making fun of me."

Sam somehow managed to look offended. "Me? I'd never do that. I'd have to be dead not to tease you, but I'd never make fun of you."

"I know." I was beginning to feel bad for doubting him, so I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He froze, and I settled back in my seat, curling my legs under me. The last thing I saw before my eyes drifted closed was Sam touching his cheek with the tips of his fingers.

***

"Katie, Katie." The sound of Sam crooning in my ear pulled me out of a very pleasant dream. I'd been riding down the road on one of those old fashioned bicycles you see in museums, with a tiny back wheel, and I'd just got to Pemberley when Sam walked out. He was wearing one of the company's shirts and breeches.

"I'm Sam Darcy," he called to me. "Come on in and meet my sister!"

When I went inside the hall was filled with sisters (how I knew this is a mystery) and they all hugged me before pushing me toward the back of the house, where Sam was waiting in front of a pond. I didn't have the chance to see what he wanted before the real, flesh-and-blood version pulled me back to reality.

"Where are we?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. I realized too late that I'd probably just smudged my mascara.

"We're here, at the house. Your Pemberley awaits." He watched me as I slowly unfolded myself from my curled-up position and looked outside the car.

My first reaction was to shriek, and then to cover my mouth with my hands. I glared at Sam accusingly. "Very funny, Sam."

"Believe me, I know."

"Where's the real house?"

"This _is_ the real house."

It appeared that the same decorator that had entranced George and Bea had got a hold of this house as well. Yellow wouldn't have been that bad, all things considered, but _pink_?

"It's very . . . "

Sam slumped back in the driver's seat and stared up at the top of the car. "Hideous. I know."

I squinted in an attempt to see beyond the color and to that actual building. It was large enough to make my parent's home look like a cottage, and if it weren't for the pink paint covering the siding it might actually be considered attractive. At least, I hoped so. It was a little hard to see past the pink.

"Do you have trouble with vandals around here?" I asked.

"Not unless you consider my mom one." Sam sat up and drove around the side of the house, parking next to the back door. I wasn't sure if his expression when he pulled the key out of the ignition was one of long-suffering or resignation. "She was a little miffed about the divorce, so she made sure my dad would never want to live in the house again before she left for Arizona."

"Which was how long ago?"

"Six months or so."

At least the paint hadn't had time to peel. That would have made my job too easy. "Can we fix it in time?"

Sam lifted a shoulder weakly and I got out, meeting him by the trunk. "Beats me. I have no idea how long it takes to paint a house."

I just shook my head. "Then I guess we'd better get started. Remind me not to get on your mother's bad side."

Barking out a startled laugh, Sam handed me the bag containing my dress for the weekend ahead and carried both our suitcases through the door.

***

The inside of the house was surprisingly welcoming, and it only took me a few minutes to unpack and inspect the bathroom. Apart from some dust it was rather nice. Sam glanced up at me when I came back into the kitchen. "Do you have a phone book around here somewhere?" I asked, looking on top of the fridge. (That's where my mom kept them.)

Sam was busy pushing buttons on his cell phone. "Don't need one," he grinned, bringing it up to his ear. "Hello, I'm looking for an emergency paint job."

Eventually I was going to have to learn how to use all the functions on my phone. Just not right this second. I scrounged through all the cupboards and pantry and came out dusty and a little frustrated. How were we supposed to survive in this house for two weeks with no appliances (aside from the ones that were built into the room) and no food? Thanks to Oliver, I knew enough about boys to realize that once Sam's stomach was empty I'd be faced with a creature that resembled a hungry beaver – he might be willing to eat the kitchen table.

Sam set his phone down and got to his feet. "I think we have the major problem solved," he announced, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pleased with himself. "The housepainter says he loves a challenge, and as long as the weather holds out he should be able to have the thing repainted by next Wednesday."

"How much is that going to cost?" I asked. I hadn't remembered Mr. Selman giving us a budget, and while I was willing to come down here to see that his party would run smoothly I wasn't about to dip into my savings account to get it done.

Sam grinned at me. "Under the circumstances, not as much as I'd expect. In addition to his fee I promised to throw him a free party the next time he's up in Indy in exchange for preferential treatment now."

Somehow things didn't seem as insurmountable anymore. "That's wonderful news. What else do we need to do?"

Running a hand around the edge of the counter, Sam sighed. "I'd say we need to start dusting."

I should have seen that coming. "At least your mom didn't decide to redecorate the inside, too," I said ruefully. "I know for a fact that that'd take more than two weeks."

He laughed and opened the fridge, which he promptly closed again. "Before we start, though, I'd say we need a trip to the grocery store. I'd hate to send you back to your family hungry. Let me get my keys and we'll go into town."

I grabbed my jacket and waited outside while he answered his phone. The air was crisp and cool, with a hint of burning leaves in the background. The effect was delicious, and I took a deep breath. There was something else in the air, I realized, opening my eyes. I tried to see through the trees, which were almost as brilliantly colored as the house (although the colors were much more pleasing) and could see something shining at the bottom of the hill. I glanced over my shoulder at Sam, who was deeply engrossed in his phone call, and walked across the lawn.

There, in front of me, was Pemberley's pond.

Well, maybe not the exact one, but it was a pretty good imitation. There was a dock with a canoe tied to it (I couldn't see why anyone would leave it in the water for so long; I'd have to ask Sam about that) and if I closed my eyes I could picture Mr. Darcy jumping in, his hair billowing in the water.

This wasn't good. I was starting to sound like a bad romance novel.

As I turned around, Sam was walking down the hill toward me. "Pretty, isn't it?" he said fondly, staring across the water. "I'll take you out in the boat tomorrow. We share the pond with a neighbor," he explained before I could ask him. "It's his year to maintain the pond and the boat, but we can use it whenever we want. Do you fancy an amble through the water with me tomorrow afternoon?"

A shiver ran down my back and I couldn't get any words to come out of my mouth. "That'd be nice," I finally managed.

We turned around and walked back up the hill toward the car, my hand in Sam's. I stared at the house as we got nearer.

Maybe after the painter finished his miracle work things would look better.

But for now, the only part of Pemberley I'd have was in my book in an upstairs bedroom.

And in the man holding my hand.

___________________

_Author's note_: Thanks to Linnea and C.J. – you guys are too cool! And to those of you who left comments, I really appreciate it. Feel free to leave me another one if the mood strikes you.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Brown County, Indiana, was beautiful. The leaves on the trees were brilliant, everyone was pleasant and helpful, and it all smelled like a cider mill.

It also woke up at the crack of dawn.

I glanced blearily at the clock next to the bed and groaned. Even Mr. P never woke me up this early. What kind of bird would sing this early – and this loud?

I shuffled to the window and peered out, trying to figure out who – or what – was trying to strangle said bird, and got the surprise of my life.

There, in front of my window, was a man attached to a very tall ladder. He was holding some sort of power tool and talking on the phone at the same time.

When he spotted me his eyes widened and then he came down a rung to see me better. "Good morning," he called politely, his voice muffled through the closed window. "Lovely day today, isn't it?"

Either they had a very strange variety of squirrels this far south or the painters Sam had hired were parked on the roof. "Hello," I said back weakly.

The guy's eyes traveled down to my nightgown and he grinned suddenly. "It's a very lovely day inside, too," he commented.

I jerked away from the window and hid in the bathroom. I sat there for a minute or two, trying to get over the embarrassment of being caught in my nightgown, and realized that all my clothes were still in the bedroom.

I poked my head out the door only to see the same guy staring into the bedroom curiously. Why, oh why hadn't I thought to shut the blinds when I ran away? He saw me and grinned. "Your bathrobe's over in the corner," he called helpfully, his tool tapping on the window as he pointed it at a chair. "I'd offer to get it for you, but your window's locked."

Thank goodness for small miracles. I dashed across the floor, shrugged it on, and escaped into the hallway.

The only thing I could think to do was go downstairs and make breakfast. If I was really lucky I'd manage to sneak back into my room to shower and change before Sam came down.

I'd convinced Sam to buy a mixer and a blender the day before (it hadn't taken much convincing, especially after I'd told him I could use them to make cookies) and had just pulled my puffed pancake out of the oven when a warm pair of hands rested on my shoulders.

"Mmm," Sam voice rumbled in my ear. "You're up early."

So much for him not seeing me with bed head. I'd been so calm, puttering around the kitchen like it was my own, that I'd completely forgotten to go upstairs. I patted my hair self-consciously and sighed when I felt the ends sticking out. I must resemble a mad porcupine. Oh, well. "Good morning," I said, leaning back. "There was a strange man looking inside my room so I came down here."

Sam, who was idly blowing at errant strands of my hair, froze mid-blow. "What was that again?"

"I think he's one of the painters," I explained. "He seemed very interested to see me in my nightgown."

Sam coughed. "I imagine he did. I'll just go have a word with – "

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "It was my fault for sleeping with the blinds open. I'll just have to remember to close them from now on. Are you hungry? I made breakfast."

The idea of a hot breakfast seemed to distract him. "I thought I smelled something good," he said, peering over my shoulder. "I could get used to this."

He wasn't the only one.

Three hours later I still hadn't made it into the shower – not because of that dude peering into my window, but because we were in the middle of attacking the main floor with dusters and a vacuum.

"Why didn't we hire a cleaning service?" I asked after a long bout of coughing. "Surely it was in the budget."

Sam tossed his rag in the bucket of soapy water and sank onto a couch. "I was going to until Dad said he wanted us to do it ourselves. Something about a life lesson." He shrugged. "I didn't have any idea what he meant, but he wouldn't explain. He said you'd understand."

I sat down at the piano and wiped the keys one by one. It was terribly out of tune, and I made a mental note to call the tuner. "Maybe I'm still in trouble."

"Why? What could you possibly do to warrant a punishment like this?" Sam gestured vaguely at the half-clean room.

"I don't know," I said, the keys starting to play louder and louder. "Ever since Josh showed up that day that I – ahem – was rude, your dad's been making me do all sorts of menial tasks. Like cleaning those stupid golf clubs the day you asked me out," I said, banging the last key with sudden force.

Sam didn't say anything, and when I looked up at him he had a far-away look in his eyes. "I remember that day," he said. "You were trying to scratch the living daylights out of that poor club."

"I would have, if you hadn't come along and saved it. Maybe this is Mr. Selman's last punishment. And it could have been a lot worse," I added, looking at him through my eyelashes. "After all, he sent you with me."

Sam made a strange face. "I have my own theories about that," he said. His voice sounded unnatural. "I think we deserve a break," he announced. "I don't know about you, but I need a shower. I'll meet you in the back yard and we'll go on that canoe ride I promised."

It occurred to me while I stood under the hot water that Sam and I had been acting very cozy since we'd come to Brown County. It felt strangely natural, like we'd been married for several years. All I needed was some sort of small person wandering around and demanding attention to feel like I'd crossed into a very realistic dream when we hit the Nashville city line.

The main level of the house was empty when I wandered downstairs, and I could hear the sound of water running above me. Sam must have been waylaid before he even made it to the bottom stair. I was making sandwiches in the kitchen when Sam's phone rang.

I didn't even hesitate. "Sam Selman's phone, Katie speaking."

"Katie? This is Hannah. How are you doing down there?"

I glanced out the window and saw several painters eating lunch on the lawn. "Did you know the house was pink?"

"Yeah, I did. Didn't anyone tell you before you left?"

Maybe the whole pink-house thing was part of a conspiracy theory. "No, they didn't. We have a whole bunch of people sanding and priming today, and I think they'll be ready to start painting in the next few days."

I could almost hear Hannah's sigh of relief. "That's great news, and now I don't have to talk to Sam. Are you excited for the ball?"

The Netherfield Ball . . . I could feel myself grinning stupidly. "Of course. Aren't you?"

She made a choking noise. "Since I just found out about it, not so much. I don't even have a date yet."

I hadn't thought of that. "Do you have any prospects?"

"Not unless I want to let my dad set me up with someone."

We both groaned. Blind dates were bad enough, but ones set up by your father . . . ugh. "I could ask Oliver for you," I said dubiously. "He's not much of a dancer, but he at least looks pretty good in a tux, and he wouldn't bore you to tears."

"I thought he was dating someone."

I laughed out loud. "That ended a few weeks ago, thank goodness. He's a free man once again."

Hannah was quiet for so long that I thought the phone had cut out on her, and I jumped when her voice sounded in my ear. "Do you think he would mind? I mean, we barely know each other."

The little matchmaking wheels in my head began to whirl. "I'm sure he wouldn't." I glanced at the clock on the microwave. "He should be in class right now, but I'll text him and let you know one way or the other tonight."

Hannah sighed gratefully. "You're a lifesaver, Katie. I don't know what we'd do without you."

When I hung up a few seconds later I was grinning to myself. I sent a quick message to Oliver, and was only mildly surprised when he texted back almost immediately.

_Count me in. Call with details tonight._

I thought about forwarding his message to Hannah, but I didn't want to seem too obvious.

It was chilly when I went outside, and I threw on my sweater before I walked down to the pond. I could hear the faint sound of birds; the painters had disappeared,

so they must have decided that staring at the house from the lawn with their mouths full of peanut butter and jelly wasn't going to get their work done any faster. I sat down at the water's edge to gaze at the pond in front of me. It was quiet and serene, with only a slight breeze to ruffle the water's surface. I put my arms around my knees and idly wished I'd thought to bring my camera.

"There you are!" A breathless Sam sank down beside me. He was carrying a picnic basket and a blanket. "I'm sorry I'm late, but it took me forever to find this."

There was something very endearing about a man carrying a wooden hamper. "You sure love a picnic, don't you?" I asked, grinning at him. "I'm not complaining, of course, but we've been on quite a few."

Sam shrugged. "It seems like the best way to get you alone. Whenever we try to do something else, someone always tends to be tagging along."

He did have a point. "So do we eat before or after we fall into the pond?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Who said anything about falling out of the canoe? I happen to be an expert paddler. Besides, the water's a little too cold to go swimming, even if we wanted to."

I raised my eyebrows back at him. "I should probably warn you that my family has a strange affinity for water. At least one of us always tends to get wet when we're not supposed to."

His lips twitched, but he got to his feet to lay out the blanket before I could tell if he was laughing at me or not. "I'll remember that. Now, let's eat before I die of starvation."

***

The contents of the picnic basket had disappeared (Sam had brought the sandwiches I'd made and then promptly forgotten about in my frenzy of matchmaking), and we lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky.

"I feel like I should be doing something productive," Sam murmured lazily. "You know, like dusting. Or watching the paint dry."

I laughed quietly. "You know, one of my favorite sayings comes from John Lubbock. He said, 'Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of water or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.'"

Sam turned his head to stare at me. "I like your quote, but where do you get that stuff from?" he asked. "You know all sorts of random things."

"Like what?"

"Well, besides that saying from Lubbock, you've read _The Importance of Being Earnest_. That's not exactly mainstream reading anymore."

I turned on my side to look down my nose at him. "That's what you get from majoring in General Studies. I know a little about almost anything. It's rather dangerous."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow so we could look directly at each other. "Would you think less of me if I told you I find you very, very dangerous?"

How had his face come so close to mine? I knew I'd been paying attention. In fact, I hadn't paid attention this closely in my entire life.

Sam's eyes dropped to my lips and I suddenly was having a hard time breathing. This is it, I told myself. Don't mess it up.

My eyes had just drifted shut, and Sam's hand had curled around my cheek, when something wet and sticky dropped on my head. My eyes flew open, my hand shot up, and before I knew it both the top of my head and my hand were covered in bird poop.

I stared at my hand in disbelief and Sam rolled over on his back, his arm thrown across his face. "You know that curse you were talking about a while ago?" he asked without looking at me. "I think you were right. It _is_ me."

There was no good answer to that. "I think I need another shower."

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, you're probably right." He sat up and took off his sweater and handed it to me, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. "Here, use this to wipe your hands," he said.

"I can't take your sweater," I objected. "It'll get ruined."

"No, it won't." Apparently Sam was a canoe expert _and_ a laundry guru.

"Won't you get cold? I can bring you a jacket from the house – "

"Don't bother," he said wryly. "I'll be fine for a while."

He was muttering something about 'best laid plans' when I walked up the hill for my second shower of the day.

***

My cell phone was ringing when I emerged, freshly scrubbed, from the bathroom. "Hello?" I said, running my fingers through my damp, wavy hair. It'd get curlier if I didn't dry it, but I didn't want to keep Sam waiting any longer than I already had.

"Hey, Katie." Oliver sounded oddly cheerful for the middle of the afternoon. "What's with all the noise? Has someone decided to install a huge blackboard so they can torture you by scraping their fingernails down it all day?"

"No," I said, laughing at his comparison, "that's just an army of painters getting ready to put the primer on the house. What's up?"

Oliver cleared his throat. "I just wanted to tell you that you were right all along," he said with a rather formal tone, "and that I'm sorry for doubting you in the first place."

What was he talking about? "Huh?"

"Jessica. I think I knew all along that dating her wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but for some reason I just couldn't stop myself. All that hair flinging did strange things to my brain. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

I could probably count the number of times Oliver had apologized to me on one hand. "That's okay," I managed. "You know the southern accent was fake, don't you?"

Oliver sighed. "Yeah, she started slipping up toward the end. I knew she didn't have an accent because she talked without one that week I spent at Josh's house a few years ago."

I wondered if she used the accent on David. Somehow I didn't think it'd make a difference to him. "Well, at least you're free now." I could have sworn I'd said the same thing not too long ago.

"Yep. I think I'm ready to swear off girls until after I'm done with school."

"Does that mean you're backing out on Hannah for Friday night?"

I swore I heard Oliver blinking. "No! Of course not. Why would I do that?"

Honestly. Sometimes brothers were so dense it was pitiful. "You just said you were done with girls. In case you hadn't noticed, Hannah is definitely female."

"I noticed." I grinned to myself and glanced through the kitchen window to see where Sam had gone. There was no sight of him. "I'll order my tux before I go back to school this afternoon, so you can tell her I'll pick her up at seven. Have her text me her address, will you?"

My grin broadened. "Will do. And, Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Take it easy on the poor girl. I think she likes you." I clicked the phone shut before he could stop spluttering.

I left my phone on the table and made my way back to the pond. Sam was waiting for me, his bare feet in the water. He was leaning back, resting on his arms (which had a fair amount of muscle to them) and he smiled when I sat cross-legged next to him.

"You could have dried your hair if you'd wanted to," he commented, leaning closer to me. "Mm. Do you always smell this good after you shower?"

I certainly hoped so, or all my bathing was kind of pointless. "Isn't the water cold?" I asked, looking at his wet feet.

He shrugged and stood up, pulling the canoe toward us. "It feels good, actually. Are you ready to go?"

I stumbled once when I was getting in, and Sam clutched me to him to stop me from capsizing the thing – which was still attached to the dock. I wasn't sure if that was physically possible or not, but I couldn't think of any other reason why he'd be holding me so tightly.

"Are you okay?" His voice was muffled.

"I think so." I'd never been this close to him before, and his clean Sam-smell was making my eyes cross. "Maybe I should sit down."

He held my hand as I did, and then, before I'd regained my senses, we were heading for the middle of the pond.

Sam was either an expert paddler, like he'd claimed, or he'd had plenty of practice as a kid. When I asked him, he made a funny face and said, "I came out here a lot when we lived here, mostly to escape David. He was an awful big brother."

He hadn't improved all that much, as far as I was concerned. "Did he try to tie you to a tree or make you do all the chores?"

Grimacing, Sam let the paddles trail in the water and we coasted to a gentle stop. "He took all my toys, and when I tried to tell on him he just said he wasn't responsible for keeping track of my things."

"That's a pretty mean thing to do to a little kid."

He stared at the bottom of the canoe and then glanced up at me. "He did the same thing in high school, only then it wasn't toys."

"What did he take then?" I was trying to keep up, but this had me stumped.

"My girlfriends."

Oh. I wasn't sure I liked thinking of Sam, even a younger version of him, with a girlfriend. "I thought David was three years older than you. Couldn't he find anyone his own age?

A mischievous look flitted across Sam's face. "He is, but he got held back in the third grade so we were only two years apart in high school. I hated it; all the girls I dated thought he was so cool and mature that they forgot I existed when he turned on the David magnetism."

I hated being jealous. "I'm sorry."

Shrugging, Sam leaned back against the back of the canoe and gazed up at the cloudless sky. "At least his charms didn't work on you."

Was Sam trying to imply that he wanted _me_ to be his girlfriend? We _had_ been out a few times already, and we got along really well. I knew I wouldn't be opposed to the idea . . .

"I don't like David," I finally said. "He's the kind that makes you all gooey and jittery when he's around, but after he's gone you're left feeling like you've just come off a caffeine high and don't know what to do with your jangly nerve endings anymore."

Sam laughed so hard he almost tipped the canoe over. "That's a very astute observation," he gasped, holding onto the sides of the boat for dear life. "Do you mind if I quote you on that?"

"Go right ahead," I said, trying to look unflappable. "He wouldn't believe you, and he'd just try harder to get me to go out with him."

That sobered Sam up pretty quickly. "I hadn't thought of that."

We lapsed into silence. I didn't know what Sam was thinking about, but I kept thinking that David didn't hold a candle to Sam. They were both handsome and charming, but the resemblance ended there – much like with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy. I'd always imagined that Fitzwilliam was a little too smooth and debonair. Like David.

The wind picked up a little, and the breeze off the pond was starting to get cold. Sam must have noticed me try to suppress a shiver, because he picked up the paddles again and began turning us around. "It looks like we need to go back," he said, regret thick in his voice. "It's getting a little chilly."

"At least let me help row."

Sam smiled slowly, a sudden glint in his eye. "You'd have to sit next to me or it wouldn't work so well."

I was pretty sure it'd work fine from where I was, but who was I to ignore an open invitation to sit next to Mr. Darcy? "It'll be a tight fit," I said, eyeing the spot next to him. "Do you trust me not to tip the boat over?"

He leaned forward and held out his hand. "I'd trust you with anything."

My cheeks started to get warm, and I scooted cautiously over to him. It was pretty tight, but he didn't seem to mind. We paddled together quietly, at a much slower pace than he'd set before. The sun was hovering just over the top of the house when we approached the dock, and Sam's hand snaked out to hold mine on top of the paddle.

"Did you ever have a chance to read _Little Women_ when Josie hid your copy of _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"My mom read it to me when I was ten or so. Why?"

He bent his head down close to my ear. "In the book, Laurie and Amy row a boat together in Vevay, much like we are now."

Wasn't that where they'd agreed to marry each other? "I – I think I remember that," I stammered. He wasn't going to _propose_, was he? We hadn't even _kissed_ yet!

"Do you remember what they did while they were on that little boat?"

My mind promptly went blank. Please don't tell me they fell into the water and got eaten by a whale, I prayed to whatever god was listening right then.

Sam inched closer to me, his paddle sitting forlornly at the bottom of the canoe, which creaked and groaned with the shifting weight. I slid over as far as I could, hoping that would offset the tilting boat. Physics was never my strong suit. "They ate a croissant?"

He chuckled and slid even further. "No, they didn't." He was so far from the center that when he leaned his head down, the slight movement was all it took for the poor canoe to turn over, spilling us into the water like it'd been planning it the entire trip.

I gasped as I slid under the cold water, which was a stupid thing to do since the water just went in my mouth. I popped back to the surface, gasping and choking, and Sam surfaced next to me, a heavy scowl on his face. He'd better not be blaming me for tipping us over, I thought crossly. I wasn't the one that had kept moving when the canoe obviously protested.

He brushed his hair out of his eyes and grabbed my arm. "Are you okay?" he asked, his grip a little too tight to be comfortable.

"I'm fine," I chattered. "When I woke up this morning, I never expected to have to take three showers before dinner."

He cracked a smile so minuscule I hardly saw it. "I'm beginning to think the fates are against us," he muttered. "Come on, I'll help you back to shore."

It didn't take as long as I'd expected to drag the canoe back to the dock, where Sam lashed it with a great deal of force. I'd managed to trudge ashore, and when I turned around I promptly forgot all about being wet, cold and uncomfortable.

If it didn't sound so much like a bad romance novel, I'd say that Mr. Darcy emerged from the pond, water streaming down his arms, his curly hair deliciously wet and dripping, his white shirt plastered to his chest, outlining his muscles . . .

Nah, that'd be a bit too much. But I thought it.

He came toward me, in inscrutable look in his eye, and reached out to brush my hair away from my face. "We need to get you back to the house before you catch a cold," he said softly.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy."

He froze.

"Excuse me?"

"Anything you say, Mr. Darcy."

His hand dropped back to his side. "Did you just call me _Mr. Darcy_?"

I blinked several times and finally realized what I'd said. "Um . . . "

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I thought the whole _Pride and Prejudice_ thing was a little strange," he said, "but now I don't know what to think. Did you only go out with me because you thought I looked like Mr. Darcy?"

"No, of course I – "

"Because if you did, I – " He stopped and wiped the water impatiently from his face. "I don't know. I guess I'd hoped you liked me because I was Sam, not because I resemble someone else. You, of all people, ought to know how that feels."

I stood there, staring at my feet for what felt like an eternity. "I do like you, Sam," I said in a small voice. "I don't know how I can make you believe me, but I do."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. "I think we should go back to the house," he said. "I need a hot shower. And some time to think."

I watched forlornly as he walked slowly up the hill, wondering if I'd just managed to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to me.

***

I stood in the shower long enough to wrinkle my insides, unsure if the water on my face was from the spray or because I'd been crying. I hated crying. It made me all splotchy and unattractive – not that it mattered anymore, but still – and I always felt a little drippy a few hours after I'd cried myself out. At this rate I'd still be drippy by the Netherfield – no, the Governor's – ball.

I tried to figure out exactly how I'd managed to confuse fiction and reality so horribly. There was nothing wrong with reading; I knew that from all my elementary school teachers who'd been very keen on getting their charges to open a book, but somehow, in the fifteen or so years since I'd discovered Jane Austen, I'd let it take over my mental synapses.

No wonder Josie always made fun of me.

The only thing to do, I told my blotchy, sad expression, is to get rid of the obsession. The obvious first step, at least to me, was to get rid of the evidence.

I managed to find a match in the nightstand (who keeps matches there, anyway? It's like an accident waiting to happen) and was on the verge of lighting my precious book on fire over the bathroom sink when I stopped. For one thing, I might very well set the house on fire and then I'd not only be out a handsome, charming boyfriend, but a well-paying (if sometimes frustrating) job as well. And an arson charge on top of that.

And I really couldn't _burn_ a book. I mean, I had history with this thing. It'd be like Solomon suggesting that they cut that poor baby in half.

Instead, I settled on sending it back home to Vincennes, where it'd be out of reach for the next ten months or so. If my mother asked why I was sending a (very small) box home, I'd just have to think of a good excuse.

Sam was nowhere to be found, much to my relief, so I walked the two miles into town and plopped my copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ on the post office counter. "I need a box for this," I mumbled. When I looked up, the lady in front of me was smiling. And naturally, her nametag read Jane. No wonder I was so hooked. I couldn't get away from Miss Austen, no matter how hard I tried.

The woman (I wasn't going to call her by her name even if she had a gun pointed to my head) took one look at me and handed over a box wordlessly. I tried to smile my thanks, but it must have come out a little wobbly because she took it back from me and packed it herself.

"Bad day, honey?"

"You could say that."

"It must involve a man."

I sighed and rubbed my forehead slowly. "Why does it always have to involve a man?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. "My life was perfectly normal and uncomplicated before he showed up."

She tutted a few times and handed the box to me to address. "Ain't that the truth. Is your man from around here? I don't think I've seen you before."

Ah, the joys of a small town. "No, I'm actually from Vincennes. I work for Peter Selman up in Indianapolis, and I'm here to get the house ready for a party next week."

Her eyes lit up and she leaned forward. "Does that mean you're having the house painted?"

"Gosh, yes. Have you seen it?"

"Hey, Rich!" she yelled, a huge smile on her face. "The Selman place is being painted!"

I heard a very muffled "wahoo!" from the back. At least I'd made someone happy.

Junie called me as I was walking back to the house.

"I called to tell you that Mr. Poppikins has officially been dog napped," she said cheerfully. Addy squealed in the background.

"Are you trying to convince my dog that it's more fun to live with you than it is to live with me?" I asked with mock horror. "Even I know he won't need much convincing."

Junie laughed. "No, we're taking him home after I get off the phone with you. And not to be rude, but he's not your dog. How's it going? Have you had a nice, romantic day with Sam?"

I still had another mile and a half left to go, so I told her the whole story. "And now he's off somewhere thinking," I wailed. "He's stuck with me until next weekend, and I have to go to that stupid ball with him. I'm sure he hates me."

Junie, who'd evidently been trying to contain her amusement, burst out laughing. "You really fell out of that canoe?" she asked. "And then you called him Mr. Darcy?"

"Twice," I admitted glumly. "I should have called him Colin; he'd never have understood that. I just sent my book back home so I could get it out of my system."

"Somehow I think it'll take more than that. You've been reading it for how long now?"

"It doesn't matter," I said.

We paused to think. I could hear the leaves crunching under my feet. "The only thing I can come up with," Junie said slowly, "is to bribe him with his very own batch of your special chocolate chip cookies. Once the smell wafts through the house he'll be drawn into the kitchen like a lion to a wounded gazelle. He won't be able to resist."

Hmm. Sam did have a healthy respect for my cookies . . .

"Thanks, Junie," I said, walking faster. "You're a genius. Hey, would your dad mind checking something out for me?"

"Do ducks quack?"

I smiled a little. "Josh has a new car," I told her, "a rather expensive one. I don't want to be paranoid or anything, but something's not right. Can you have him check it out for me, make sure it's legit? He has a red 1967 Corvette. I even have a picture; I'll email it to you this evening if I can." If Sam was still talking to me, that is.

She whistled. "That's a good car," she said appreciatively. "Wish I had one."

I just shook my head. It seemed I was doomed to be surrounded by car buffs.

***

Junie was an undisputed genius. I'd just pulled the second batch of cookies out of the oven when Sam appeared.

"Hey," I mumbled, keeping my head bent over the cookie sheet so I didn't have to see the expression on his face. I leaned over to put the next batch in the oven, and when I straightened up Sam was next to me.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you. We'd just been talking about David and his ability to steal things away from me, and when you called me the wrong name I kind of flipped out."

Why was he apologizing? He wasn't the one that had messed things up so badly. "It's my fault," I said miserably, trying not to cry. "If I hadn't been so obsessed about that book it never would have happened."

"Would you still have – " he swallowed hard – "liked me if you hadn't read _Pride and Prejudice_?"

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. "Of course I would!" I said. "You were the one that saved me from Mr. P. How could I not like you?"

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head. "You never know," he said, his voice muffled.

We stood there like that until the buzzer went off. Sam grabbed the hot pads from me and pulled the cookies out. "Did you make these for me?" he asked, eyeing the ones already on the island.

I grinned and nodded. "I talked to my friend Junie on the way home from the post office, and she told me the best peace offering I could think of was a batch of cookies just for you."

Sam laughed and stuffed two in his mouth. "You have a very wise friend."

I thought about her astute descriptions of Josh. "She is," I agreed, and ate one of Sam's cookies myself.

When he'd stuffed himself to the brim with chocolate chip goodness, we sat in the living room to unwind. I'd been shocked to see that Sam's mother had taken all the kitchen appliances, but not her books. To my mind, that was doing things backwards.

Sam's eyebrows rose when I pulled a copy of _Little Women_ off the shelf.

"Aren't you going to read _Pride and Prejudice_ again?" he asked.

I settled back in the couch and tried to get comfortable. No wonder his mom hadn't taken the furniture. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

He sat across from me and stared for a while (making it very hard to concentrate; if I'd still been obsessed with everything Austen, I'd swear I was stuck in the Netherfield library with Mr. Darcy) and finally wandered over to the other end of my couch, sat down, and put my feet on his lap.

"Is that better?" he asked, flicking idly at the hem of my jeans.

I lowered my book, still open to page one, and breathed a contented sigh. "Much."

"Can I ask you something?" His flicking fingers were getting nearer and nearer to my ankle.

"Mmhmm."

"What was up with the pond and Mr. Darcy? I don't remember anything significant happening in the book."

Sadly, there wasn't. It was just in the mind of Andrew Davies. "I'll show you later, when we have more time." I smiled at him beatifically. "You'll just have to trust me."

He looked confused but dropped the subject.

After I'd changed into my pajamas and gotten into bed (blinds firmly closed), I tried to think of one positive thing that had happened that day. I actually came up with something.

If I was right, and I was pretty sure I was, Sam Selman had tried to kiss me not once but twice. It was hardly his fault that a bird had pooped on me or that the canoe had capsized.

Well, the boat may have been his fault. But maybe, just maybe, if I was on my best behavior for the rest of the week, he might try again.

Who cared if Elizabeth wanted Mr. Darcy to kiss her? They were only fictional characters in a very well-written novel.

Sam, on the other hand, was very much alive.

And, for the next ten days, he was living across the hall.

The possibilities were endless.

Author's note: The Netherfield Ball is in the next chapter, so don't stop reading now!

Many thanks to C.J. and Linnea, who inspired the Colin Firth reference.

Let me know what you think of my version of the demise of Catherine's gothic obsession!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

The next few days went by in a flurry of dusting, window washing, and scrubbing. The constant sound of power sanders eventually died down, and Friday morning I awoke to find Sam in the kitchen surrounded by paint samples.

"What are you doing?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and yawning. After that first morning I'd given up on making sure I was presentable before going downstairs. He hadn't screamed and run from the house then, so I felt I was pretty safe. Maybe Sam was nearsighted in the morning.

He glanced up at me and smiled. "Trying to decide what color to paint the house. I thought about just changing it back to the way it was before, but now I'm not so sure." He scrunched up his face. "I wasn't all that fond of it then, actually."

I sat next to him and stared at all the colors laid out on the island. They all looked exactly the same to me, and I shrugged and rested my head on my hand. "I can't picture your dad in a white house."

"They're not white."

I raised my eyebrows and leaned forward, grabbing a handful of colors. "Then what color is this?"

He frowned and lowered his head so it was almost touching my shoulder. His breath ruffled my hair, and I fought the urge to put my fingers on his whiskery cheek.

Sam had maintained a certain distance over the past few days, much to my dismay. I wasn't sure if it was because every time he'd tried to kiss me in the past something had gone horribly wrong or if he was still a little stung by the whole 'Mr. Darcy' fiasco. Either way, he'd been a perfect gentleman and hadn't tried to invade my personal space. Every night I'd gone to sleep coming up with crazier and crazier ways of getting him to try again, but dismissed them all when I woke up the next morning. So to have Sam so close to me again, and breathing down my neck (literally), was a little disconcerting.

Somehow I managed to squeak out, "You're ignoring my question. It still looks like white to me."

"That one's Intricate Ivory."

"It doesn't matter what you call it, it's still white. Do you have a picture of the house before your mom pinkified it?"

His ear brushed mine when he shook his head and I fell off my chair, landing on the cold tile floor in a tangle of legs and bathrobe.

The corners of Sam's mouth quirked up, but he pulled me to my feet without saying a word. He didn't move away, and I gazed up at him, my mouth opening to thank him, when his head started to descend toward me. His lips were inches from mine when we heard a loud thud followed by a jovial, "Anyone home?"

We sprang apart just as Mr. Selman appeared, and I busied myself with smoothing my hair (which was pointless) and making sure my robe wasn't stuck in my underwear. I didn't even bother wondering what my boss was doing there. After all, since I was about to kiss Sam, someone was bound to come in. It must've been his turn on some sort of rotating schedule.

Mr. Selman strode into the kitchen and looked at the two of us with a large amount of satisfaction. "The house is looking good," he said, helping himself to the last of Sam's cookies. (Sam pretended not to care, but I could see his shoulders slump as his dad swallowed.) "When are they going to start painting?"

Sam shook himself and gestured toward the island. "As soon as we decide on the color. Katie says she can't picture you living in a white house."

I glared at him and started sidling toward the stairs.

Mr. Selman just laughed. "Is that so? Then what color would you choose if it were your house?"

I stopped where I was and looked desperately at Sam, who shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "I've never painted a house before."

"But probably not yellow." Sam smirked at me.

"No, definitely not yellow. Maybe . . . " I thought fast. "Maybe grey, with black shutters, like the New England houses you see in magazines."

Looking thoughtful, Sam picked up a color chart and stared at it. "That might work," he said slowly. "We have the right kind of house to pull off that look."

"Anything would be better than the pink," I pointed out.

He tried to hide a smile behind his hand. "I don't know; orange might be worse."

Mr. Selman took the chart from Sam and might even have glanced at it. "Grey it is. Now, when are you two leaving for Indianapolis? You have a big night ahead of you."

Sam's left eyebrow rose. Where had he learned to do that? Had it just come to him in the middle of the night without even trying? And, more importantly, why hadn't the gift come to me? I'd been the one practicing for years.

"Aren't you coming with us, sir?" Sam's voice was polite, but his jaw was tight.

Mr. Selman waved his hand in the air with a dismissive gesture. "I was, but since the rest of my family – and the lovely Miss Embury, of course – is representing the company I thought I'd stay here and keep an eye on things. Wouldn't want anything to happen to the house this close to the party." His laugh was almost too loud.

"I hardly think – "

"Sam, I'm staying here until tomorrow morning." He put the chart on the island and started toward the door. "You should take Miss Embury to your house," he said over his shoulder. "I'm sure she'd love to see it. In fact, you should just change there."

"Yes, sir," Sam sighed. "That's an excellent idea."

Mr. Selman's off-key whistle floated into the kitchen as he went upstairs to unpack.

"What was that all about?" I asked. "Did you know he was coming today?"

Sam slowly shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. He wouldn't look at me. Maybe he was still embarrassed that we'd almost been caught kissing. Why, oh why couldn't Mr. Selman have waited another five minutes? I wasn't asking for a whole lot here.

I leaned my arms on the counter, and several paint chips scattered onto the floor. I bent over to pick them up, and when I straightened Sam was staring at me with a strange expression on his face, so I grabbed an apple and bit into it so I could hide my flushed cheeks. Shaking his head like he was confused, Sam said, "I'm surprised he's not attending the ball. He seemed pretty excited to have everyone there."

"Maybe he doesn't like dancing."

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched. "He hates it, actually. When he attends these things he usually stalks around the edge of the dance floor and glowers at people."

"Then I guess we should be grateful he's staying here, then," I laughed. "It'd make it hard to concentrate when I'm dancing with you."

He gave me a sly smile. "I think I can manage to hold your attention."

I had a sudden mental picture of Sam in a tuxedo and had to swallow my bite of apple to keep from drooling. "You're probably right." I cleared my throat. It might be a good idea to change the subject. "What's this about seeing your house? Do you live very far from work?"

Sam shook his head. "It's fifteen minutes away or so, not far off Meridian," he explained. "I bought it as a fixer-upper a few years ago, and I'm afraid it still needs some work. I haven't had a lot of time to devote to it recently."

I sighed dreamily. "That must be fun. I've always thought it'd be cool to tear down walls and pull out carpet."

His mouth opened and closed a few times. "Have you ever done that?"

I sighed again before I remembered that I wasn't trying to impersonate a hyperventilator. "No, but it still sounds like fun."

Sam snorted with laughter. "Maybe, if you're a good girl at the ball tonight, I'll let you knock a few holes in my wall after we're done with the party here. And, if you're very, very good, I'll let you choose the colors for the shutters."

He laughed and ducked when I threw my apple core at his head.

***

An hour after lunch I laid my dress bag in the backseat of Sam's car while he had a hurried discussion with his father. "We'll be back late tonight," he said. "Don't wait up."

Mr. Selman gave me an exaggerated wink. "You could always spend the night at your house," he called to his son. By the time Sam wrenched open his door his face was almost as pink as the house had been.

It took Sam so long to calm down that we reached 465 in record time. He hadn't said much on the trip, but when he exited off the freeway he finally glanced at me.

"We're almost there."

At least his face was the right color again. "Are we in a big hurry?"

He glanced at the clock and sighed almost happily. "Not anymore."

I glanced behind us and wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. "That's good, because it looks like you're being pulled over."

Sam looked sharply into his rearview mirror, said a word that sounded suspiciously nasty, and stopped on the side of the road. He opened the window, leaned his head on the steering wheel and stayed that way until the police officer rapped on his car.

"Do you know how fast you were going, sir?"

My head shot up in surprise and I leaned forward. "Officer Fredericks? Is that you?"

Sam's eyes opened and he sat back up. "You know people in the strangest places," he commented drily.

Fred lowered his sunglasses so he could peer over them. "Katie! Junie and I were talking about you just last night! What are you doing here? I thought you were on some assignment down south."

I grinned at him and patted Sam on the shoulder in a way I hoped told him to keep his trap shut. "I was, but the boss came down and sent me up to the Governor's Ball with his son. This is Sam Selman. His dad – "

"Owns Peter's Perfect Catering," Fred finished for me. "I know. Hey, are you the guy I've been hearing so much about lately? Junie says Katie hardly stops talking about you."

There are times when I really wished the saying 'if looks could kill' were actually true. Of course, then I'd be in jail for killing a police officer.

Sam's mouth slowly lifted and his eyes sparkled. "Is that so? That's very interesting. How fast was I going, Officer?"

Fred coughed uncomfortably. "Forty three."

I leaned even closer to Sam so I could stare Fred directly in the eye. "Fred. The speed limit's forty. Surely you have better things to do than stop people for going three miles over the speed limit."

Looking even more uncomfortable, Officer Fredericks wiped off his top lip. "He was still going too fast."

I just stared at him in disbelief.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, defeated. "Let me take a look at his license and registration and you guys can go." Sam handed over the papers wordlessly and Fred ambled back to his patrol car.

Sam started laughing silently. "How many times have you been pulled over?" he asked when his convulsions had died down. "You're a pro at getting out of a ticket."

"Only once," I said, scooting back to my seat and folding my hand primly. "And I got the ticket that time, so stop laughing. Fred's my neighbor. I'm good friends with his wife."

He rested his head back against the seat and wiped his eyes. "I guess I should thank you."

"You should. And so should Fred. Can you imagine what the judge would say if you wasted his time by contesting a ticket for three over?"

Sam was trying to look serious again when Officer Fredericks reappeared at the window and gave Sam back his papers. "I almost forgot, Katie," he said, gazing around Sam. "Do you know when that car was purchased? .We've had a hard time tracking it down."

I avoided eye contact with Sam. "We?"

Fred shifted from foot to foot. "Well, Junie's dad. But I've been helping."

Now we were both pretending Sam was invisible. He, in turn, was pretending to be stone deaf. "That's great," I sighed. "I thought he got it a week or so ago, but I'm not sure. I'll try to get that picture to Junie in the next few days. Maybe that'll help."

"That'd be great. I'll tell her to be on the lookout. In the meantime, be careful." He grinned at me. "Girls," he said to Sam. "They always have to be doing something sneaky."

I'd opened my mouth to protest when he slapped the top of the car and stretched to his full height. "I'd advise you to follow the speed limit from now on, Mr. Selman," he said in a very stern voice. "I'd hate to see you get in trouble."

"I will, Officer."

Fred slapped the car again for good measure before he returned to his car. Sam waited until he'd driven off before pulling back onto the road.

"What did he mean, be careful?"

Evidently he hadn't been in character long enough to actually become deaf. "He's a police officer," I reminded him. "He tells everyone to be careful."

"Not when they've been talking about some sort of intrigue. What have you been doing? Are you in trouble?"

"Not unless you're a serial killer that's going to murder me in my bed."

He didn't laugh. "Katie, be serious. What's going on?"

Well, I could hardly tell him I was investigating Josh's strange behavior by using a retired detective. It'd look too suspicious. On the other hand, I also didn't want him to think I was a total nutcase. "Junie's dad is a retired detective," I said reluctantly, "and he needed something to do so I asked him to check out a car for me." That was technically the truth.

"That's right. Your dad took yours back to Vincennes, didn't he?"

When I nodded he shot me a grin. "When you're really serious about getting a new one, let me come along. I'll check out the engine for you, make sure everything looks good."

I smiled back at him weakly. "That'd be great." For some reason I had a feeling that this conversation was going to come back to haunt me.

A minute and a half later we were in Sam's driveway. He turned the car off and sat there. "Are we going in?" I whispered when it was obvious that he wasn't going to move.

He nodded his head but stayed put.

"Are you okay?"

Sam's laugh was stuttery. "I think I'm nervous."

Nervous? What did he have to be nervous about? "Does your roof leak?" I asked severely.

He shook his head.

"Do you have mice?"

"No."

"Rats?"

"No." Now he was starting to laugh.

"Do you have a mad wife living in your attic?"

He laughed harder. "I thought you said you only read _Pride and Prejudice_."

"I did, for fun. But I read lots of other things for school."

He pushed his door open and came around to my side. "I'm guessing _Jane Eyre_ was part of the curriculum somewhere."

I grinned up at him. "You got it. Besides, I have a feeling that I'm going to love your house."

His fingers curled around my hand. "And why's that?"

"Because I already – " Somehow I stopped myself from saying 'love you'. I mean, I hadn't even admitted that to myself yet. Surely I needed to do that before I told Sam. "I can tell from the outside," I finished lamely, knowing my cheeks were brick red.

He looked at me curiously and pulled me to the front door. "Well, this is it."

The house was fantastic.

And clean. There was no sight of a dust bunny anywhere.

Hardwood floors, large windows all over, sunlight streaming in (there went my theory about the Selmans being a bunch of vampires), a huge brick fireplace . . . it felt like a home.

"I love it," I breathed, stepping further inside. Sam shut the door behind me and leaned against it, watching as I went from room to room. "Are you a closet chef?" I called from the kitchen.

I heard him chuckle and then his slow footsteps got louder. "No, but I wish I were. This is all the stuff from the Brown County house. I was the only one that could use the appliances, so my mom gave everything to me."

No wonder the pink house had had empty cupboards. "Did it occur to you that we might need some of this stuff this past week?"

He grinned. "I figured we'd go out to eat most of the time. When you offered to cook, I was hardly going to argue."

I was too excited about the house to waste time on pretending to be affronted. "Well, next time it might not be a bad idea."

"Yes, ma'am." I was glad to see that Sam was back to his normal happy self again.

He led me through the rest of the house (skipping his bedroom, which he claimed was too messy; if this was his idea of 'messy', then Oliver should come over for a cleaning lesson), finally stopping in front of the only door in the house that was closed. "What's in there?" I asked, wondering if he'd changed his mind about showing me his bedroom and if I wanted to see it.

"Not much, I'm afraid. The house has three bedrooms and I already use the other one as a spare, but I haven't decided what to do with this one yet." He pushed the door open.

"It looks like you know perfectly well what to do with this room," I said, taking a few steps inside. He was watching me with a bemused expression on his face. "I mean, it has a baby grand piano in it."

His smile was slow and soft. "Yeah, but I think it's supposed to be a nursery. Look, you can still see a faint Winnie the Pooh in the corner."

A nursery . . . It somehow fit. I could totally see Sam sitting in a rocking chair in a corner, a tiny baby nestled on his shoulder . . . Wait a minute. I was getting way ahead of myself.

"Since I don't have any need for a nursery, I thought I'd put my Great-Aunt Ruby's piano in here."

I wandered to the window and gazed into his backyard. "This is lovely," I told him, leaning on the window frame.

"Yes, it is." Sam came up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders. It was so comfortable that I leaned back into his chest. "This is nice," I sighed.

Sam's fingers tightened around me. "Katie, I – "

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sound of the phone. He made a funny noise and released me. "I'd better get that," he said ruefully. "It might be someone already at the Arts Garden."

The house was quiet, and I let myself out the back door. I sank into the rocker Sam had placed between the trees and tried to think.

Had I said the word 'love' in my head back there in the driveway? When had this happened? And why hadn't I been paying attention? It wasn't like I'd ever been really in love before (no matter what I'd told my boyfriends), and I'd known it wasn't true love back then. So what made things different now?

The only thing I could think of was that it'd happened in Brown County when Sam hadn't hated me for calling him Mr. Darcy. Or maybe it was on the canal during our magical date. Or maybe . . .

All right, I told myself sternly. It doesn't really matter when it happened. What matters is what you do about it. I had a fairly good idea that Sam liked me – at least, he wanted to kiss me and was getting more and more frustrated with every failed attempt. The best idea, I thought, would be to plant one on him. I'd never done such a bold thing before, but there was a first time for everything.

My mind made up (at least for now) I stretched out my legs and closed my eyes, enjoying the last of the autumn sunshine. It was so quiet and peaceful, and there was no big red dog to slobber all over my knee, that I started to doze. When Sam sat next to me and pulled my head onto his shoulder, I didn't protest.

"Is everything all right at work?" I asked blurrily. At this rate Sam was going to think I couldn't entertain myself and had to resort to sleeping for fun.

I could feel his chest rumble next to my cheek. "Yeah, they're okay. They were just calling to complain about having to carry all the equipment up the stairs. The Arts Garden isn't the easiest place to cater a party."

"Don't they have an elevator?"

He snorted. "Yeah, but it's about the size of a broom closet."

"You mean it's as big as your office."

"Something like that."

"Hey, I have a question about your house. You said it still needs some work, but it looks fine to me. Were you just pulling my leg?"

He laughed quietly and pushed the hair off my forehead. "You haven't seen my to-do list. Not to change the subject, but we need to be downtown in an hour and a half. Do you need much time to get ready?"

"I wouldn't mind a bath," I said absently, listening to his heart thump. "I should probably get going."

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and wound my hair around his finger. "Don't be too long," he warned. "I've kind of gotten used to having you nearby."

It didn't take me nearly as long as I'd thought to get ready, and I dropped my shoes by the front door before I wandered into the nursery. I ran my fingers over the piano's keys and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was in tune. Did Sam play? It would make sense; both his and his mother's houses had contained pianos, so he was probably forced to take lessons at some point.

I played Debussy's "Clair de Lune" quietly so I wouldn't disturb Sam. It felt good to play again – the one thing I missed, living at George's and Bea's house, was a piano. Perhaps there was a way to convince Sam to let me borrow his.

I played the last notes and sat at the piano while they died away. When I shook myself and lifted my head, Sam was standing in the doorway. He looked like he'd just been tugging at his cuffs and had stopped mid-tug. He was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen – even with his bow tie slightly off-kilter.

He cleared his throat and then swallowed. "I didn't know you played," he said quietly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Well, after our Mr. Darcy trauma I was hardly going to tell him that I'd only begged for piano lessons after discovering that Elizabeth played. "I don't know," I hedged, and stood up. Sam's eyes traveled down me slowly and he swallowed again. "You look . . . " He stopped to clear his throat. I hoped he wasn't coming down with something. "You left your hair down."

I wasn't sure if that was good or not. "I can change it if you want," I faltered, my hand going to my head. "I thought, since this was sort of a date – "

"Don't touch it. You look beautiful."

I gave him a shy smile. "Thank you."

He held out his hand silently and watched as I closed his piano, trailing my fingers along its polished top. His smile when I put my hand in his was dizzying. "Shall we go?"

***

Most of dinner was a blur, but when we got to the Arts Garden things suddenly came into sharp focus. "Sam!" I hissed. "Can people underneath us see up my dress?"

He laughed and squeezed my fingers. "Of course not. The sides are glass, but the bottom is solid. You're safe from peeping toms."

Breathing a sigh of relief, I squeezed his fingers back. "That's very good to hear."

He glanced at me sidelong. "I agree."

As soon as we got inside people were clamoring for Sam's attention. "Sorry," he murmured in my ear. "The joys of working for the company that puts on the party. Save the first dance for me."

I watched as he melted into the background. Just as I turned around a pair of hands covered my eyes.

"Hello, Oliver," I said pleasantly.

He dropped his hands and laughed. "It's good that Mom isn't here."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're here with a date, I'm here with a date, and the governor is willing to shake people's hands. She wouldn't know where to go first."

"Where's Hannah?"

He scanned the crowd. "Over by the elevator with Sam. Seems that someone's stuck."

No wonder so many people had been glad to see him. "Should we go and chat with the governor?" I asked. "Mom would never forgive us if we didn't."

His eyes still on Hannah, he nodded. "Might as well do it before the dancing starts."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Since when do you dance?"

"Since about an hour ago. Come on, let's go."

Governor Marks was very nice and, after we'd told him of our mother's love for state government, he had one of his staff members take our picture together so he could send it to her.

"She's going to have a fit when she gets a hand-written note in the mail from her favorite public servant," I told Oliver as we walked toward the dance floor where the band was warming up.

"It'll be good for her," he replied absently. "There's Hannah. See you later."

I'd barely had time to feel abandoned when Sam appeared at my side. "Are you ready to make me look like a million dollars?" he asked.

I turned to face him and gently fixed his tie. "Now I am."

Dancing with Sam was indescribable. I could have happily spent the rest of my life gliding around the dance floor in his arms if I was reasonably sure my feet wouldn't kill me. Sam's grip tightened around my waist as the band played the last chord, and he was bending down, when someone tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something urgently in his ear.

Sam muttered something under his breath and looked annoyed. "I hate catering at the Arts Garden," he said under his breath. When I raised my eyebrows at him he sighed.

"The elevator's stuck again." He still looked annoyed. "When I find the repair guy . . . "

"You'll give him a piece of your mind?"

He looked like he wanted to smile for my sake but couldn't. "Or something. Do you mind if I leave you alone for a minute or two? It seems that several of our people are in that blasted elevator."

I could hardly argue with his work ethic. "I'll be fine."

He was still scowling when he made his way through the crowd.

A few minutes turned into fifteen and then thirty. I couldn't fault him, but I did feel a little lonely. I danced with several people, who all seemed to know who I was (I didn't bother to find out which Katie Embury they thought they were talking to) and had just washed my hands in the ladies' room when my cell phone buzzed in my bag.

"Katie, it's Jessica. I need your help."

I hadn't heard from Jessica in a while, since before she and Oliver broke up. It was strange to hear her voice without the fake twang. "What's up?" I asked, only slightly curious.

"It's about your brother. I think I've really ruined things."

I let out a very unladylike snort, and an older woman turned to glare at me. "Well, you kind of cheated on him," I reminded her, leaving the ladies' room and moving to the hallway connecting the Garden to the mall. "I thought you were blissfully happy with David."

She sniffed and then blew her nose. It was not a pretty sound. "David doesn't love me anymore," she wailed. "He says life's too short to settle for one person."

I snorted again and the same woman that had glared at me in the bathroom rounded the corner. Who was she, the snorting police? "Jessica, he's doing the same thing to you as you did to my brother."

Jessica completely ignored me. "You see David at work. Has he found someone else?"

I walked by where the servers were waiting and happened to catch sight of David. He was very, very busy with one of my coworkers. It seemed like I was destined to see David making out with assorted women. I felt like I should notify security and tell them that someone was being indecent. "It would appear so," I said into the phone. "But don't worry, it's not just you. He'll probably be after a different girl tomorrow."

She cried harder. "I just want to marry someone rich!" she howled. I winced. The girl had a very piercing voice. If David wasn't so caught up in his activities he probably could have heard her. I turned around and walked rapidly toward the dance floor again. Anyone watching me would think I was pacing.

"Why don't you try to be rich on your own? You know, like Josh. He just bought that car, after all."

She sniffed. "Whatever. All I want is Oliver back. Will you talk to him for me, try to smooth things over?"

Oliver and Hannah swung by just then. Hannah was laughing and hopping up and down on one foot, and Oliver was trying to stand far enough back that he wouldn't step on her again while simultaneously hold her close. "I can't do that, Jessica," I said, turning away and smiling to myself. "I think you'll both be happier with someone else."

"But Katie – "

"Jessica. I'm not going to plead your case to my brother. I love him too much. I'll see you around." Even as I shut the phone I could hear her hysterical shrieks.

I dropped into a chair to wait for Sam. What could possibly be taking him so long? Had he fallen down the elevator shaft? I'd just gotten back to my feet to check on him when someone grabbed my arm.

"Katie, my love." Josh's voice was way too close to my ear, and I could smell a trace of alcohol on his breath. I tried to pull away but his grip was too tight. "I've been looking all over for you. Where have you been hiding?"

"I haven't been hiding anywhere." I twisted my face away from his and scanned the crowd for Sam. There was still no sign of him. "Let go of me," I hissed, trying not to make a scene.

His fingers dug deeper into my arm. "I think I deserve a dance with the famous Katie Embury," he said, and yanked me toward the dance floor. Before I knew it his arms were tightly around me and he was swaying back and forth to the music. "Come on, Katie. You know you want to."

"I do _not_," I hissed. "Let go of me or I'll – "

"Or you'll what?"

What could I do? Step on his foot with my heel? Scream for help? It hardly seemed the place to be screeching at the top of my lungs, especially since he hadn't done anything more than make me dance with him. "I'll call security."

His grin was lascivious. "Your phone is on the chair. I saw you put it in your bag. Where's your boss, by the way? I was hoping I'd have a chance to talk to him."

"He couldn't make it," I told him through gritted teeth.

His hands slid down my back when he shrugged. "Pity. I was hoping he'd make good on the other part of his promise."

Since when did Mr. Selman make promises to people like Josh? "What promise?"

His eyes dropped to my chest, and I had an overwhelming urge to clutch my dress to my skin. I knew I should have worn something under this dress. "A date with you, of course. We can leave right now if you want."

"I'm not available tonight -- or any other night. Let me go!"

When his hands gripped my bottom I'd had enough. I dug my heels into the floor, put my hands on his chest, and raised my knee with all the force I could muster in a tight skirt.

I'd never been so glad that Josh was short in my life, because it didn't take a whole lot of effort for my knee to land where it needed to. When his eyes crossed and started to water he finally let go of me to clutch his crotch. "I told you to let go of me," I said dispassionately, "and I meant it. Don't ever touch me again."

I turned around to stalk majestically away only to walk right into Sam. He held me to his chest and glared at Josh. "Get out of here." His voice could have frozen the North Pole all over again. "And stay out."

Josh limped toward the exit, but only after he'd thrown me a look so vile that the hairs on my arms shriveled up.

"What did he do to you?" Sam demanded.

I cleared my throat and tilted my head toward the curious crowd, who'd been watching since Sam had made his little speech. He placed his hand on the small of my back and propelled me toward the hallway.

"What did he do to you?" he repeated.

I rubbed my arms and his eyes widened when he saw the finger marks. He pushed my hands away and ran his fingers over the marks gently. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I tried to get away before but they couldn't get Mary out, and I didn't want to leave until she was safe – "

"It's okay, Sam. I understand. At least I got my point across."

A sudden, satisfied grin flashed across his face. "I'll say you did. Let's go home. I think we've had enough of this party."

The word 'home' sounded enticing, but I was feeling too keyed up to have to sit in a car for very long. "What about Hannah?

"What about her?"

"I thought she was supposed to come back with us. We can't just leave her here."

Sam thought for a minute, his eyes fixed on the dancing couples. "You're right. Besides, you still haven't fulfilled all the requirements of this date." His voice was serious, but his eyes danced when they turned back to mine.

"Oh? What haven't I done yet?"

Sam started ticking things off on his fingers. "You've laughed at my jokes, made me look wildly successful, but you haven't done the third thing yet."

Could he forget our dance so soon? "I already danced with you," I reminded him, folding my arms across my chest.

"Just once. I believe the deal was a few times. You still owe me at least one more."

I looked up at him through my eyelashes. "Do you trust me? The last person I danced with had to leave the party." I couldn't help the surge of satisfaction I felt when I remembered Josh hobbling off the dance floor. I should have felt horrified, I know, but I just couldn't.

He chuckled and, his arm around my waist, guided me back into the Arts Garden. "I'll take my chances."

How we managed to keep from running into anyone is beyond me, because Sam and I stared at each other all through that dance. His grip was gentle, but I seemed to be getting closer and closer to him. By the time the song was winding to a close I was so close to him I could almost hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

He stopped by the rounded windows over the street and stared at me for a minute like he was trying to decide something. Then, with a determined look on his face, he slowly bent his head down to mine and kissed me – on the lips.

I'm not really a kiss-and-tell sort of girl, but I will admit one thing – it was the sweetest, sexiest kiss I'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It was so good little flashes of light went off inside my head.

That could have been the flash photography, but still.

I'd be willing to try again, just to make sure.

_Author's note_: Well, they finally kissed properly! I hope it wasn't a terrible disappointment.

Tremendous thanks to Linnea and C.J. for helping with this chapter!

There are only three chapters left, so be sure to tell me what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Sam sank down onto the couch next to me and stretched out his long legs. "Did Oliver tell you when he was going to drop Hannah off?" he asked languidly. He pulled me toward him, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

"He said something about having to collect her bags first."

"Mm." Sam rested his cheek on top of my head and sighed. "They seemed to be getting along very well tonight."

I smiled to myself. "Yes, they did." I pulled my feet up onto the couch and pushed up the legs of the sweatpants Sam had let me borrow. He'd insisted that I'd be more comfortable on the drive home if I wasn't wearing heels – and a dress -- and it hadn't taken much persuading for me to agree. There was the added benefit of being surrounded in Sam-ness . . .

The next thing I knew Sam was nudging me awake. "Hannah's finally here," he murmured. "It's time to go."

How he'd moved without waking me up was a mystery, but somehow he'd packed the car and closed up his house. "I'm sorry," I said, uncurling my legs from the couch. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

He caught me as my unsteady legs tried to propel me into the wall. "Easy there." He laughed softly. "I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to sleep. I may need you to help me stay awake on the drive back."

Hannah and Oliver were talking quietly on the front porch. I saw her hand him a piece of paper, which he tucked into his pocket. "I'll talk to you soon," he promised. "Hey, Katie."

I untangled myself from Sam and reached up to kiss my brother on the cheek. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" I whispered into his ear.

"Maybe." He ruffled my hair and smiled at Hannah. "Take care of my sister, Sam," he said without taking his eyes from her. "She needs constant supervision."

"So I've noticed." Sam ushered Hannah and I toward the car and seconds later we were off.

Hannah fell asleep in the backseat almost immediately, and Sam reached out to lace his fingers through mine. "Did you have a good evening?" he asked.

I couldn't stop the dreamy smile from crossing my face. "You know, if you didn't kiss me I was going to plant one on you."

Sam's startled burst of laughter made Hannah say, "What? What's going on?"

"Never mind," he shot back. "Go back to sleep." When her breathing became deep again he glanced at me. "Really? You were really going to kiss me?"

I gave a one-armed shrug. "You seemed so frustrated every time you tried and something managed to stop us. So I figured that maybe I'd have better luck. You just beat me to it."

I could see him grinning to himself in the light of the oncoming cars. "Sure did. And I'd do it all over again. That kiss was – " He cleared his throat. "Anyway. I'm glad you had a good time."

I played the evening back in my head. It had been wonderful, for the most part. If only Josh hadn't shown his sorry self . . . "How long had you been watching me dance with Josh?" I wondered out loud, shuddering when I remembered the expression on Josh's face when he'd left the building.

"Long enough." The speedometer started to creep up and Sam's grip got tighter. "I came in just in time to see him ogling your . . . " He cleared his throat. "I've never moved so fast in my life. I'd just got to you when you took care of him yourself." He sighed. "I really wanted to hit him," he said a little wistfully.

"I'd never done that to anyone before," I confessed. "I hope it worked."

Sam laughed to himself in a mirthless sort of way. "Oh, believe me, you got your point across."

I certainly hoped he was right. "It was a rather Haskins-ish sort of evening, actually," I said, thinking it might be better for the car if I changed the subject. We seemed to be careening down the road rather quickly all of a sudden. "Jessica called me when I was in the bathroom. She seemed to think that David wasn't that into her."

Sam snorted and the car started to slow down. "I'm pretty sure he wasn't, and I never even met her."

"While I was talking to her I saw him entertaining one of the girls from work. It was quite instructive."

Sam sighed heavily. "I'd say I was shocked, but I'm not. I think he's hit on every woman that's come to work for us, attached or otherwise."

I pulled a face. "That's horrible."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I think the only way to have a normal family is to form one of my own."

Now _that_ was an interesting thought. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a good reply, so I didn't say anything.

When we pulled in front of the Brown County house I was so tired I was only managing to stay awake by pinching myself at regular intervals. Sam roused Hannah before he helped me carry my bag up the stairs. "I'll see you in the morning," he murmured outside my bedroom door. "Sleep in, if you can."

I leaned my head against his chest for a moment before turning to go.

"Katie?" Sam hand was on my shoulder, holding me back.

"What?"

"Have pleasant dreams. I know I will." Then he kissed me, slowly and gently, and walked down the hall to his own room.

***

The next few days were a blur of activity. Mr. Selman was so focused on his party that he didn't have time to be rude to me, and I managed to stay in the background and do things no one else wanted to – mainly, finish cleaning. When I asked Hannah why her father hadn't gone back to the city as he'd planned she frowned.

"I don't know," she replied. "He said something about wanting to oversee the preparations down here, but you and Sam obviously have things under control."

"You haven't exactly been a slacker, Hannah."

She shrugged. "I do what I can. I think you really want him gone so you can have some alone time with my brother."

I scrubbed harder at the windows in the laundry room, knowing that if I looked at her my burning cheeks would give me away. "I'll neither confirm nor deny that statement."

She laughed. "I think someone's been watching too many lawyer shows."

Heck with Mrs. Bennet, now I was starting to sound like my mother. Were crime shows and lawyer shoes related somehow? There had to be a loophole somewhere. . . Stop it, I told myself. You're just making it worse.

"I noticed that Oliver called you yesterday," I said, wanting to get the conversation away from television shows. "How's he doing? I think he's spent more time talking to you this week than he has to me, and I'm his sister."

Hannah blushed prettily. That must be a talent, I decided. Maybe you could only be cute while blushing if you also had the one-eyebrow-raising gift.

"We have a lot in common," was all Hannah would say. "We're going out to dinner next week. I'm looking forward to it."

Well, I couldn't fault Oliver's choice in girlfriends (assuming that was where they were headed) this time. I did feel a little bad for Jessica; the only thing she'd done wrong was not be the sort of person Oliver was ultimately looking for. And it wasn't really her fault that she had such a wretched excuse for a brother.

The painters had been doing their work all week, and Thursday afternoon I stood in front of the house with the Selmans. We all stared at it in silence.

"Well?" I finally asked. "What do you think?"

I was starting to feel a little anxious (after all, the color choice had been mine) when Mr. Selman slapped me on the back, making me lurch forward. "You did a good job, Miss Embury. Well done."

That was the most complimentary thing he'd said to me since I'd started working for him. I would have brushed a tear from my eye if I wasn't having a hard enough time breathing. That man certainly knew how to knock the air out of a girl.

He beamed at us and walked around the house to make sure the painters hadn't missed anything. (They hadn't, but the exercise was probably good for him. He'd been sitting in that house all week.)

"It's good that they got finished when they did." Hannah looked up at the sky. "It looks like it's going to rain any minute."

At least the paint was dry. I'd seen a house a while back that was being painted white with dark red trim, and halfway through the trim part the heavens opened. At the end of the day the house looked like it was a red-and-white zebra. Not a pretty sight.

"I'd better bring the canoe into the shed." Sam sighed. "I was going to do it this afternoon, but . . . " He trailed off, looking at me hopefully.

Hannah smirked at us. "I'm sure Katie wouldn't mind helping you," she snickered. "I'll go inside and look over the rest of the house before everyone else arrives this afternoon."

Looking extremely pleased with the way things had worked themselves out, Sam waited until the door had closed behind Hannah before he reached for my hand. "We haven't had a whole lot of time together lately," he said, his words muffled by my hair. "I hope you don't think I've been neglecting you."

I smiled against his shirt and inhaled deeply. "You could say the same thing about me. It feels like I've been on the phone non-stop since I got out of bed Monday morning."

"Mm. I've missed our morning meetings."

I lifted my head. "What morning meetings?"

His expression grew distant. "You know, all those times I'd meet you in the kitchen. You looked so adorable, all sleepy and warm and . . . I don't know, out-of-bed. You could still do that, you know." He looked down at me hopefully.

I just rolled my eyes. He really must be nearsighted in the mornings. "I hardly think that's a good way for my boss to see me," I pointed out. "He got angry a few weeks ago when I still had my jacket on when I went into his office. I can't imagine what he'd say if he saw me in my bathrobe."

"Too bad." Sam sighed, a little regretfully, and we started walking toward the pond.

We managed to pull the canoe out of the water and to the storage shed before it started to rain. The shed wasn't full, so we stood there and watched the rain for a while in silence, Sam standing behind me with his arms around my waist. It was very convenient – I was just tall enough for my head to fall right under his chin.

"How long do you think it'll last?" he asked. He chuckled when I shrugged.

"I took a geography class in college," I told him. "I thought it was stuff like where countries were located, what their capitals were, that sort of thing. Instead, it ended up being about land masses and weather patterns. I barely squeaked by with a 'C'."

His rumbling laugh made my toes curl in my damp shoes. "You're probably as good as some of the weather guys, then. Do we stay, or do we make a run for it?"

I wouldn't mind hanging out in a storage shed with Sam for the next few hours, but Mr. Selman chose that moment to bellow my name from the back door. "Miss Embury! Come here! This is not a paid vacation!"

"No one should have to paint a pink house on their vacation," I muttered under my breath. "Come on, Sam. It looks like it doesn't matter what I decide."

We dashed toward the house, getting drenched in the process. When we stepped inside, breathless and shivering, Mr. Selman shook his head.

"Get some dry clothes on, both of you," he ordered. "The staff should be here in an hour or so."

"Yes, sir," we chorused. Sam winked at me when his dad walked away. How I managed not to laugh is beyond me.

I took the fastest shower of my life and ran downstairs, my hair still wet. The phone rang as I passed through the kitchen to throw my damp clothes in the wash.

"Hello?" I said absently,. I remembered too late that I should have said something that sounded more professional.

"Is Sam around?"

That voice sounded vaguely familiar. "No, I'm afraid he's not. May I take a message?"

I heard something that sounded like an elephant with allergies on the other end of the line. "This is Agnes from the catering company," she said in a voice that I would have called disappointed if I didn't know any better. "What's he doing?"

Ooh, Agnes. "He's in the shower," I told her, feeling smug that I knew that and she didn't. I never thought I was this malicious before. Maybe I needed to get my head examined. "I'd be glad to fetch him, if you'd like. Or I can take a message."

Okay, I definitely needed to get my head examined. What possessed me to say something like that? We both knew I wouldn't go into the bathroom when I knew a naked man was in there.

Even if it was Sam.

"No, that's fine," Agnes snapped. "Let me talk to the elder Mr. Selman then."

Would Agnes get in trouble if I told Mr. Selman she thought he was old? He seemed the type that wanted you to ignore his birthday, thus ensuring that he never got any older. "I'll see if I can find him," I said as sweetly as I could while my teeth were grinding themselves down to bits. Ever since Agnes hadn't passed on Sam's message, I'd had a hard time feeling charitable toward her.

Mr. Selman grunted when I told him who was on the phone, and had just managed to figure out how to start the washing machine when he burst into the kitchen. "I need to go back to Indianapolis," he said, his eyes darting around like he was searching for something. "Tell Sam and Hannah that I'll be back first thing in the morning, and that everything had better be ready to go when I get back."

My "Yes, sir," was said to an empty room. He'd been in such a hurry he hadn't even bothered to close the back door, letting the rain in.

I was mopping up the mess when Sam came down the stairs. "What's going on?" he asked, taking the dripping towel from my hands and wringing it out in the sink.

I explained, to the best of my knowledge, what had happened and he frowned slightly. "That's odd," he mused to himself. "He was very keen on going over the guest list with us tonight. I suppose we'll have to do it without him."

That evening, while Hannah and Sam were bickering about washing the dishes

(in a way that made me miss my own siblings), I texted Junie.

_Any luck with that car?_

It only took a minute for her to respond. _No. Are you sure it was a Corvette?_

_Yep. I have two authorities._ Whatever I thought about Josh, he knew his wheels. _He told me he'd gotten it that weekend._

_Well, I can't find any record of it. Do you happen to have the VIN number?_

I almost laughed. Was she joking? Why would I have that?

The phone rang ten seconds later. "All right, I know you don't have the VIN number." Junie was laughing. "Doesn't everyone memorize those things?"

"Very funny," I told her sarcastically. "Are you serious? You can't find any record of Josh buying that car? Maybe he stole it."

"I thought that, too," Junie confessed, "but there aren't any that have been reported missing in the past few weeks. I'll have Dad keep looking. How are things down there? Did your boss ever show up?"

She was quiet as I related the incidents of the past week. "Interesting," was all she said. "I saw your picture in the paper, by the way. You and Sam looked very cozy."

Drat. Those little sparks of light that I'd seen when Sam kissed me were from cameras after all. I should have known. "He's wonderful," I sighed, flopping back onto the couch. "It was one of the best nights of my life."

Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the couch and I flew into a sitting position. Hannah's laughing eyes met mine, and I collapsed backward again. Evidently she'd won the battle of wills in the dishwashing contest. "I need to go, Junie. I'll talk to you when I get back from Brown County."

Hannah patted me on the shoulder. "I bet Sam would give his eyeteeth to have heard the last part of that conversation," she remarked. "It would have blown away any insecurities he might still have to hear you say that."

I could feel my cheeks getting warm. Hannah must have felt sorry for teasing me, because she mercifully changed the subject. "Did you know that Senator Embury is coming tomorrow?"

I knew he'd been invited. "Really? I've always wanted to meet the guy who named his daughter after me." We laughed, and Hannah joined me on the couch. "I wonder if he'll bring her."

Hannah flipped through her papers. "He's bringing a guest, but didn't specify who. It could very well be his wife. I have to say, though, that it'd be fun if she did come. I want to see the two of you standing next to each other, each saying 'what?' every time someone calls out your name."

"Very funny," I said drily. "You're not the one with the famous name."

"Thank goodness for that. I might be tempted to change it."

I shrugged and made a place on the couch for Sam, who'd wandered in during our exchange. He draped is arm over the back of the couch and played with my hair absentmindedly. "I thought about it, but decided I'd never get used to anything else. And besides, I don't know what I'd name myself."

"I'd change my name to Elizabeth," Hannah said with a dreamy expression.

Sam and I looked at each other and started to laugh.

***

When I came downstairs the next morning people were already filling the house, and I hung back. I'd never catered a party before, and I didn't have the faintest idea what I was supposed to be doing.

Sam found me in the laundry room as I was stuffing my sheets into the washing machine. "Here you are," he said in some relief. "I've been looking all over for you. Have you heard from my dad yet?"

I frowned and dumped the fabric softener into the machine. "No, I haven't. I thought he was supposed to be here by now."

"Miss Embury!"

We both jumped. "I guess he's here now," I said wryly, slamming the lid shut. "I'd better get going."

"Wait a second." Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's your laundry soap," he told me, eyes still shut tight. "That's what it is. I love that smell."

What was he talking about? "Huh?"

He half-smiled and kissed the top of my head. "No, maybe it's the shampoo. I can't decide."

"Miss Embury!"

I rolled my eyes. "Duty calls." I ducked under his arm and ran down the hall toward my boss.

That was the last time I saw Sam all morning. Mr. Selman kept me close to his side, having me make last minute phone calls and fetch him snacks from the kitchen. When I popped inside for the third time in as many hours, Andre threw a dishcloth at me.

"Stay out of my kitchen!" he yelled. "I have enough things to do in here without that man eating everything in sight!"

I grabbed a croissant apologetically. "Come on, Andre. You had to know this was going to happen. The man's having a party for two hundred people at his own house. He's going to be a little stressed, and you know what happens to Mr. Selman's digestive track when he gets nervous."

Andre threw his head back and laughed. "Ah, Katie, what would I do without you? I know, I know," he added when I rolled my eyes, "I'd manage to survive. Which is more than I can say for my poor brother."

"What's wrong with Pete?" I asked, sneaking a cookie behind my back. "Has one of his dogs finally lost all its hair?"

He shook a finger at me. "I saw you take that," he said accusingly. "Pete was heartbroken when he saw that picture in the paper of you with Sam. He really thought you were The One." He said the last words like they should be capitalized.

"I thought Pete was nineteen."

"He is. He's very mature for his age. And that picture was very telling."

I was going to have to find a copy of that newspaper. As soon as I got home. "I'm sorry he's sad," I told him, trying to be diplomatic. "But he really never stood a chance."

Andre sighed in defeat. "I know, I know. Now get out of here and let me chop some vegetables."

I managed to escape before the knives came out. Who knew what a chef with a lovesick brother might do by mistake?

Ten minutes before the party was slated to start, I stood in the foyer behind Mr. Selman. All traces of nerves had disappeared, and he gazed calmly at his reflection. "Be sure to remember everyone's name, Miss Embury," he told me calmly. "It will make a huge impression on our guests, and you're already a bit of a celebrity with the people at the track."

I was going to kill Frank when he showed up. What had the man been saying?

I was saved from answering when the first guests arrived, and for the next half-hour I hardly had time to breathe.

During a short lull in my greeting duties, Sam nudged me in the back and gave me a glass of water.

"Thanks," I said gratefully. I hadn't realized how much I'd been talking.

"You look beautiful." He stood next to me and we gazed at our reflection. "We look good together," he murmured. "I wish I had a camera. If you need me, I'll be in the back yard. The wind's picked up, and the tents are trying to fall down." He shook his head. "An outdoor party in late October in southern Indiana. At least it's not pouring down rain."

I gave his glass back and smiled. "Thanks," I told him again. His eyes held mine for a second, and then he was gone.

I'd checked the last guest off my mental list when Mr. Selman appeared at my elbow. "Where's the senator?" he asked.

I repressed the urge to tell him I was _his_ personal assistant, not the senator's, when a car rolled up. "I believe that's him, sir."

We watched from the doorway as Senator Embury, accompanied by a young woman, slowly made their way toward us. Their progress was slow, I noticed, because the girl was wearing four-inch heels. How did she expect to get around in the grass in shoes like that? I made a mental note to keep a staff member near her in case she needed to be excavated.

"Hello, Senator! I'm so glad you could make it today." The two men shook hands before Mr. Selman addressed the girl, who was obviously there under duress.

"And who is this lovely creature?"

The girl rolled her eyes and snapped her gum.

Senator Embury frowned and nudged her forward. "This is my daughter, Katie."

Mr. Selman smiled knowingly and winked. "Ah, I see. She does have an uncanny resemblance to the original."

His eyes narrowed, the Senator moved a step closer to his daughter. "Pardon me?"

"I can be very discrete, sir." Mr. Selman winked again.

At this point I felt I needed to say something. "Sir, that really is the senator's daughter," I whispered, trying not to appear obvious.

His back stiffened. "My apologies," he said in a tight voice. "Please enjoy the party."

I was pushed unceremoniously through the house and into the laundry room. I seemed to be spending a lot of time in there recently. It's too bad more clothes weren't getting clean.

"What's going on?" he demanded, shutting the door firmly behind him. He didn't look happy.

How was the best way to put this? "It seems like you were accusing Senator Embury of bringing a girl to your party who wasn't related to him," I said as delicately as I could.

"Who is she?"

I felt rather taken aback by this. "She's his daughter."

"She's not Katie Embury. You are."

Realization started to dawn. "We both are." I started praying that I hadn't been hired on his mistaken belief that –

"You – she – who the blazes_ are _you?" he yelled. Mr. Selman seemed to be suffering from an inability to speak coherently. His face was turning an alarming shade of purple.

"I'm Katie Embury!" I told him trying to be patient. "I have the same birthday as she does and the same name, but I'm from Vincennes. My father is a high school chemistry teacher. The other Katie's never worked a day in her life."

He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at me. "You're fired."

I was sure he was kidding. "Very funny, sir. Shouldn't we be getting back to your party?"

"_You_ are going to get out of my house. I should have you arrested for impersonating someone famous."

I'd stowed my purse in the closet that morning, and I yanked it out. "Look," I said. "Here's my driver's license. You should have a copy of it back at the office."

He stared at it and began to twitch. "I can't believe it," he muttered. "And to think that I hired you so I could use your name to influence the track people. Well, it worked, even if you are a no-name, pitiful excuse for a personal assistant."

I tried not to feel hurt, but was incredibly unsuccessful. "I don't think – "

"Well, everything came out the way I'd planned, anyway. I now have the contract of a lifetime, even without your unwitting help. And for all I know, those fools at the track thought the same thing I did."

"Frank Chance knows who I am."

"If that's the case, and I doubt it, then I don't owe you anything. Go make Josh Haskins happy. Lord knows he's talked enough about you."

What? "I'm already dating your son," I said feebly.

He barked out a laugh. "Only because I told him it would be a good business move."

I wondered if I looked as horrified as I felt. "What?"

He smirked at me. "You can't actually think Sam went out with you because he wanted to. I told him to take you to that restaurant, and, if you'll recall, your date at the Governor's Ball was my idea, too. Your whole 'relationship' was planned by me, not by my son."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "You're lying," I whispered.

"I'm not. Sam doesn't love you," Mr. Selman sneered, "and he never will. He'll drop you so fast you won't even know how it happened." He watched as I clutched the sides of the washing machine for support. "I think this is the end of our working arrangement," he told me, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. "As I said before, you're fired. Please get out of my house. I never want to see you again." Then he turned and left the room.

I didn't know which was worse – the knowledge that Sam had only gone out with me because his father had told him to, or that fact that I'd fallen for it. I should have known that someone like Mr. Selman wouldn't have hired me without an agenda. A memory of the television in his office floated to the surface of my overtaxed brain. Hadn't the other Katie been in perennial trouble around then? It made sense that he'd think that her father was forcing her to get a job as some sort of reform measure. Why she'd want to work for a catering company, though, was beyond me.

I trudged slowly up the stairs to my room, trying not to think about Sam, but when I walked in and saw the sweats he'd lent me just a few days before I lost it. I dashed the tears from my cheeks angrily; I hardly ever cried, and the two times in the past year that I had it'd been over stupid Sam Selman. The alliteration would have made me laugh, but it was a little late for that.

Hannah came in just as I was closing my suitcase. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, slipping her arm around me.

I managed to choke out, "I'm fine," but she'd either seen my splotchy face or heard the catch in my voice because she hugged me tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Dad just told me what happened."

I rubbed my face roughly and pulled out of her embrace. "I should have seen it coming. He's been saying things that didn't make any sense ever since I started working for him, and I just assumed I was misunderstanding."

"How are you getting home?" The concern in her voice made me tear up all over again.

"I haven't exactly figured that part out."

She thought for a second. "Let me get something, and I'll be right back."

I folded the clothes Sam had lent me and left them on the bed. The last thing I wanted either of the Selman men to accuse me of was theft. Just before I left the room, I pulled the catering shirt Sam had given me back on my first day on the job and placed it on top of the pile. I never wanted to see it again.

Hannah met me in the hallway with a set of keys. "Take Sam's car," she said in a low voice. "I couldn't find him, but I know he wouldn't mind."

Sure he wouldn't. He'd managed to get rid of a delusional girlfriend (if that's what I'd been), who then stole his car. Of course, a few days without a car should be bearable. "Whatever," I sighed and stuffed my bag in the backseat.

"Be safe," Hannah told me while I buckled myself in. "Call when you get home; I'm sure Sam will be worried."

I doubted that. "I'll talk to you when I get back."

I drove slowly down the driveway and turned on Sam's radio. I almost drove into the trees when "Claire de Lune" started playing.

If I listened to this I'd cry myself into a state of dehydration. I fished in my purse for my iPod and came up with my cell phone.

No, not _my_ cell phone, I reminded myself wearily, and turned the car around to take it back to the house. I was surprised Mr. Selman hadn't demanded it back on the spot when he'd fired me.

I'd just laid it on top of my (ever increasing) pile of stuff to give back when it buzzed with an incoming text from Junie.

I almost toppled over when I read her message.

_Josh's car was purchased by Peter Selman._

**Author's note**: Feel free to leave me a message!


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Mr. Selman bought a car for Josh.

Somehow, a lot of things started to make sense.

And now I had something to think about besides Sam.

My brain shuddered at the idea of Sam, so I did a mental about-face and tried to focus on Josh. That was much more comfortable; it was infinitely better to barrel down the freeway in a state of righteous indignation than to do it blinded by tears. Stop it, I scolded myself. You're starting to sound like a bad romance run amok again.

So what _had_ Josh been doing all this time? He'd been yapping about Mr. Selman since the day I'd met him. If I remembered correctly he hadn't even started making threatening noises until the day I was supposed to have lunch with Sam and Hannah. What had he said then? _"Let me tell you one thing, Katie Embury. You may think you're hot stuff, working for Peter Selman and hitting on his son, but you just wait. One day, and sooner than anyone thinks, I'll be the one in control of things, and you'll be on the sidelines kicking yourself for ever turning me down."_

And what had he been doing there in the first place? It was almost like he'd known they were going to be late and had come looking for me. No, that couldn't be. He'd have to be either psychic or the world's luckiest stalker.

Suddenly an image popped into my head. It was a bit like watching an old movie, only with me as the cameraman. I'd convinced Frank Chance to talk to my boss, and the next thing I knew Mr. Selman had come into the office with Josh hot on his heels. I remembered it so vividly because I'd been rude to Josh and had had to apologize. Josh had pretended he'd known me forever. He obviously hadn't told Mr. Selman that I wasn't the famous Katie . . .

It hadn't been too long after that meeting that Peter's Perfect Catering had won exclusive catering rights to the track.

But Josh didn't have any influence, I reminded myself. No matter how much he wished it were otherwise, he was just a tour guide with an unholy admiration for my boss.

I needed to talk to Junie. In a bad way.

I'd been planning on driving Sam's car straight to the office, but I changed course and headed for my street. Junie was outside when I got there, raking leaves in the back yard and piling them on top of Mr. P.

"Katie!!" she cried in surprise when I appeared around the side of her house. "What are you doing here?"

I sank next to Mr. P, who laid his head in my lap and licked my ankles in a welcome home sort of way. I rubbed his big reddish ears and told Junie the entire story.

"So when I got your message I started to think," I concluded. "But I still can't figure out why Mr. Selman would be willing to work with Josh. It wasn't like he had any clout at the track."

Junie scooted her rake around on the ground without really paying attention to what she was doing. "No," she said slowly. "He'd been getting more responsibility over the past few weeks. I'm not sure it was exactly a promotion, but he was doing more than just running tours."

That's right, I remembered now. Junie had told me this right before I'd left for Brown County. Evidently Mark Anderson was a horrible judge of character. Just like the rest of us.

"But why would Josh care what kind of business the catering company won?" I mused, watching Mr. P's tail switch the leaves out of its neat pile. Junie didn't seem to notice. "What did he get out of it, besides the opportunity to come to functions that he normally wouldn't – and give me grief?"

Junie's erratic raking movements froze. "What did Josh want more than anything else in the world?"

"A car." I said that without even thinking about it. After all, I'd listened to him rhapsodize about that stupid '67 – "No way."

We stared at each other in shock. "Don't tell me. A '67 Corvette.

"It would appear," Junie stated after a long pause, "that your boss bribed Josh to help him get his contract."

"Wait a second." I sat up and stared at the street. A memory had just popped into the forefront of my brain. "He told me he'd been working on something. I blew him off because I was late, but when I saw him with his new car he said, 'I've been working on it for a while now. Kind of makes you wish you hadn't thrown me to the curb, doesn't it?'"

Junie shook her head in disbelief. "We're right. I can feel it in my bones. And my bones are usually right. It's just too bad we don't have any concrete evidence."

I sighed. I couldn't believe I'd ever gone out with that creep. "He's gotten everything he wanted," I said sadly. "His fancy car, invitations to all the big events, he got me fired . . . I hope there isn't anything else."

Junie regarded me sympathetically, and I looked away before I lost it. The first thing I saw, naturally, was the car sitting in her driveway. "I should probably take Sam's car back," I said wearily.

Junie caught the hitch in my tone when I said Sam's name. She crawled over and put her arm around me. "You don't know for sure that it was all an act," she murmured. "I mean, Peter Selman's hardly an icon for upright living. Do you really think he told you the truth?"

I rubbed my forehead. "Maybe not about everything, but he did push Sam into taking me to that stupid ball. It wasn't like he asked me himself. And Sam did act all strange before he asked me out on that date when we walked along the canal."

I fell into the pile of leaves when Junie jumped to her feet. "Wait right there," she commanded. I'd hardly registered that she'd gone before she was back, waving a newspaper in my face. "Look at that. Then try to tell me that Sam Selman isn't madly in love with you."

My fingers were shaking when I took it from her. There, in front of me, was a picture of Sam kissing me at the ball. I traced my fingers over the image and wasn't terribly surprised to find that my cheeks were damp.

"Don't cry!" Junie ordered. "You need your eyes clear. Look at the picture and tell me what you see."

Rolling my eyes, I wondered where this bossy streak was coming from. Maybe it was some sort of recessive gene that surfaced in women when they gave birth. That would explain a lot about my mother. "Fine, fine," I muttered, and looked harder at the picture in front of me.

Even though his face was partially obscured by mine I could tell that Sam was smiling. He was holding the back of my neck with one hand, and the other was pulling me as close to him as he could. He looked like . . . like . . . he was glowing.

"Men don't glow," I said slowly.

Junie sat back on her heels, very satisfied with herself. "Men glow when they're kissing the love of their life," she pronounced. "That man is In Love With You. Pictures don't lie. Now, go call the man. I'm guessing you left without telling him, and he's probably worried sick about you."

I absentmindedly pulled my bag toward me and fished around inside for my cell phone. All I came up with was that tape Mr. Selman had ordered me to change before we left the office nearly two weeks ago.

"What's that?" Junie's voice was suddenly sharp. "Where did you get it?"

I glanced down and shrugged. "It's from Mr. Selman's office," I explained, not understanding why she was so interested. "He has some sort of recording thing in his office."

Junie stared at me like she expected more of an explanation. "It's behind a picture on his office wall," I went on, starting to get irritated. "The kind that you have to tell it what it's doing. You know, 'tape in, tape out,' that sort of thing."

"What did you tell it to do? Tape in or out?"

This was a strange twist on our conversation. "In, of course. I mean, the tape was inside the machine, so it felt a little redundant."

Junie almost fell over in her rush to hug me. "You are my favorite techno idiot in the world!" she cried. "We have our proof right here!" She started to laugh uncontrollably. "All we have to do is get to his office and listen to it."

"Wait a second. What are you talking about?"

The glee on Junie's face would have made any small child on Christmas morning proud. "I'm guessing that 'tape out' meant Mr. Selman recorded every conversation that took place outside his office. 'Tape in' meant . . . "

It took me about three seconds to understand what she was saying. "You mean this little tape recorded all the conversations that took place inside Mr. Selman's office? I changed this just after the track tour, so that means – "

"That means that if your boss bribed Josh Haskins, and was dumb enough to do it while they were at work, then it's all on this tape."

I wasn't sure if I was relieved or not. I was hardly the Inspector Clouseau of the twenty first century. Wait. Maybe I was, but I wasn't going to admit it. "Do you have anything that can play this?" I asked hopefully.

She'd started to shake her head when a loud squalling noise filled the backyard. "That's the baby monitor," she told me. "Addy hasn't been sleeping well, so I let her take a long nap."

I'd opened my mouth to ask why that made sense; surely you should keep the baby awake during the day so it'd be tired at night, but hey, she was the expert. "And no, I don't have a player for this kind of tape," Junie went on, completely ignoring my internal monologue. "Unless we want to go out and get the right kind, the only way we can listen to it is at the catering company."

It took me a while to convince Junie that it'd be best all around if she stayed at home with the baby while I went on my own, but she caved in the end.

"Just because I have a baby attached to my hip doesn't mean I can't be helpful!" she yelled as I backed the car out of the driveway.

The baby she was talking about gave an ear-splitting wail, and I shot Junie an I-told-you-so look. "I'll call when I get there," I shouted. "Give me fifteen minutes."

***

My car was the only one in the parking lot, which I'd expected, but it felt weird to leave Sam's car in plain view so I drove it around the back. I'd have to remember to tell Hannah that she was a genius; by making me drive her brother's car she'd unwittingly given me his keys to the back door.

The halls seemed to echo as I walked through the building. I kept expecting someone to be waiting for me around every corner, and I had to remind myself that practically the entire staff was in Brown County. When I finally flipped on the light in Mr. Selman's office I sank into the chair and tried to calm down. It would hardly do anyone any good if I passed out on the floor.

Well, it wouldn't do Mr. Selman and Josh any harm.

I called Junie when I had the tape ready to roll. "Let's hear it," she said without any fussing around with pleasantries. I put her on speakerphone and we sat there, Junie in her kitchen and me in Mr. Selman's chair, listening as Josh Haskins and Peter Selman made the deal to end all deals.

_"See you around, Katie. Mr. Selman, did I tell you that your lovely assistant and I go way back? We're old friends of the family."_

_A door closed. "Is that so? How do you know Senator Embury?"_

Icould almost hear the wheels turning in Josh's thick skull._ "Oh, we used to be neighbors way back when. We still keep in touch, mostly through Katie. I'm sure you heard that she's been in a bit of trouble – crazy parties, wild boys – and her dad's really worried about her."_

_Mr. Selman made a noncommittal noise._

_"In fact," Josh went on, "he forced her to get this job so she could turn her life around. I hope you're not making it too easy on her. I'm sure the senator would be glad to know that she's really learning a lesson by doing some serious hard work."_

_"Of course."_

"So that's why Mr. Selman started to be so mean!" I couldn't keep the indignation out of my voice. "I swear, the next time I see that sorry excuse for a – "

"Shut up, Katie. I'm trying to listen."

I sank back into the chair, still seething. "Sorry."

_"I hope you enjoyed your tour last week, Mr. Selman," Josh said in an oily, unctuous tone. "I understand that you have high hopes for the track."_

_A chair creaked, like its owner was shifting uncomfortably. "I don't know what you mean."_

_"Come on, sir. We both know that it would be a great accomplishment. I can't imagine how it would feel to be able to say that you landed the contract of a lifetime."_

_There was a long silence. "It would, indeed." Mr. Selman was thinking hard. I could tell because he was speaking slowly. "I wonder, what would it take for someone already inside the organization to, shall we say, help things along some? I have the feeling that I might be in a position to assist that person in his other endeavors."_

_Josh's next words were confident. "I think I might be just the man you're looking for, Peter. Mark Anderson has been relying on my judgment more and more lately, and I'm sure I could turn the tide in your favor."_

I could hear the sound of creaking leather again. I could just imagine Mr. Selman leaning back in his chair, sporting a look of triumph similar to the one he displayed at the theatre when he'd made his big announcement. _"I'd be willing to give that person, say, a '67 Corvette. Purely as a thank-you gift, of course."_

_Josh hissed in surprise. "How do you know – "_

_"I've done my homework, Josh. I also know you've been hankering after my personal assistant, but I've already got her in mind for my own son. Do we have a deal? Your support in exchange for the car of your dreams?"_

_The response was immediate. "It's a deal."_

"It's too bad he'd already promised you to his son," a voice drawled from the doorway. "It would have saved me a lot of effort."

Josh stood in the door, his arms folded across his chest. "Well, well, well. Of all the people who could have figured this out, I never expected it to be you."

I stared at him in shock, my mind remaining stubbornly blank. "How did you get in here?" was all I could come up with before my brain clicked into gear. How much had he heard? Did he know I was on speakerphone? I leaned forward casually and pushed the mute button on the phone with one hand -- the last thing I needed was for Addy to start fussing now -- and the record button under the desk with the other. If he killed me, at least Junie'd have proof. Not that I thought he'd kill me, but still. You can never be too cautious.

"I managed to snag myself a key." He stood there and regarded me shrewdly. Maybe he'll think I'm just a dumb blonde who doesn't know what she's found, I thought desperately.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed that you caught on as quickly as you did." He leaned against the doorjamb, effectively blocking my exit. "You're smarter than you look."

So much for the dumb blonde routine. "You dropped enough hints," I told him, looking around for something – anything – that I could use to distract him. The only thing on the desk that I could throw at Josh was the phone, and I needed that to stay on. Maybe he'd just kick me out if I promised to keep quiet.

He moved forward, a sly smile sliding across his face. "I can't say that I'm disappointed, though," he said conversationally. "I told Peter I wanted you and didn't care that you were dating that stupid son of his, and he turned tail and fled the county. Coward."

Mr. Selman was smarter than I gave him credit for. I pushed the chair back and got to my feet. I now understood what it felt like to be on the wrong end of a boa constrictor. You kept waiting for it to open up its big mouth and do something that would break your neck. "I don't know why you want me," I babbled. "It's not like I'm anything special."

"Yeah, I know. But I've never seduced someone as naïve as you before, and the anticipation was killing me. Tell me you're a virgin."

If I'd been scared before, I was terrified now. Please, Lord, I prayed with more urgency than I'd ever prayed before, help me get out if this. I promise I'll go to church every Sunday. Trying not to let him see me gag, I edged around the side of the desk on shaky legs. "You never acted like you wanted any action. You acted like you wanted me to get my boss to go golfing with you."

His laugh almost made my heart stop. "His golf game stinks. I've known that for ages. What else would I want? After your brother broke things off with Jessica, I think you owe me something."

"She was with David!" I squeaked. No matter where I moved, he came closer. "She didn't want Oliver once she found out he wasn't going to be rich!"

Faster than I thought possible, given the length of his legs, Josh was an inch in front of my face. His hands gripped my arms so tightly that I winced. "We Haskins don't like to be dumped," he said, his eyes flashing. "Nor do we like to be publicly embarrassed." It took me a second to realize he was referring to my actions at the Governor's Ball. When I opened my mouth to protest, he pushed me back until the top of my legs hit the desk and growled, "Now shut up and stop arguing."

Then his mouth was crushing my lips to my teeth.

I tried to push him away but he was as strong as he looked, and he just kissed me harder.

"That's better," he said, bending me backward, an eager expression on his face. "I'm glad we came to this little understanding. Now, where – " He paused, cocking his head like he was listening to something. A second later he swore and pulled me upright again.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't make a sound," he hissed in my ear before he threw me into the bathroom so hard that I hit my head on the opposite wall. I heard the door click shut behind me before I had a chance to flip on the light.

My heart thumping madly in my chest, I sank onto the counter and tried to get a grip on myself. If I stayed in here very long, Josh was going to . . . going to . . . I couldn't even think the words without wanting to be sick. I had to get out of there.

Then I heard someone come into Mr. Selman's office, and for a wild second I thought it was Sam, coming to my rescue. Instead I heard Agnes' voice.

"Hi, Josh," she simpered. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one." He sounded a little flustered. "You're early."

"I couldn't stay away." They were silent for a few minutes, and I began to wonder if it was safe for me to turn on the light when Agnes started talking again.

"It was so funny when I called down to Brown County and asked Katie if Sam was there. She thought I had the hots for him. 'Oh, Sam's in the shower,'" she said, mimicking me. There was no way my voice was that high. "'I'll get him for you if you want.'" The sound of her laughter made me want to puke all over again.

His voice calmer, Josh said, "It sounds to me like you're jealous of her."

Agnes laughed. "Jealous? I hardly think Sam Selman is anything to lose sleep over." She obviously didn't know what she was talking about. She _was_ out there alone with Josh, after all. "After David and I finished – " I rolled my eyes; like David would let any relationship 'finish'. He was more the severing kind – "I decided I was done being a receptionist. I'd applied to be Selman's personal assistant when that tart waltzed in."

"I know," Josh said, obviously bored. "We've had this discussion before."

"And it still makes my blood boil!" she cried. "I did everything – I wrote that note to make her change the toner, knowing she'd biff it – she _is_ blonde, after all – I didn't tell her that her precious Sam was running late – "

"Thanks for the tip, by the way." Josh's voice was amused. "I had a lovely lunch that day. The sight of Katie with her shirt drenched in beer was absolutely priceless."

What were they doing, writing a commercial for MasterCard?

"I even rigged that light by Sam's office so it would fall on her head. I had to stay late for a week, waiting for the opportunity! And what happens? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

Any compassion I'd ever felt for Agnes promptly disappeared. I _knew_ I hadn't been instantaneously clumsy! If I could only get Sam to believe me.

Wait. He was in Brown County, schmoozing with the big wigs.

"What was she supposed to do, think the place was haunted? She may be blonde, but she's not that dumb. And anyway, you got me instead of a new job." Josh sounded offhand. "I know you wanted David, but believe me, I'm much more of a man than he could ever dream of being."

"How do you know that?" Agnes was suspicious.

Please don't say he dated your sister, I prayed silently. There are things a girl doesn't want to know.

"I caught him with my sister in a very intimate moment." He laughed to himself. "But maybe you want a demonstration."

Agnes was suddenly breathless. "Right here? In the office?"

Josh's voice grew nearer. "I have an appointment in an hour or so," he said, knocking on the bathroom door idly, "but I can make time for you right now. It's a very large desk, after all."

Now I really was going to be sick. The other room was strangely quiet, and I tried desperately not to think about what was going on out there. Instead I started feeling around on the floor for the tile that opened the secret door next to the toilet. Why hadn't I been paying more attention when Sam had done this?

I knew exactly why. He'd just melted my bones when he'd washed the ink off my face. The only thing I'd been able to concentrate on was standing.

It seemed like I'd been crawling around on that cold floor forever, but the door finally slid silently open. I stumbled out, my eyes blinking in the light. Agnes must have turned them on when she came in.

When I reached Sam's office I propped a chair under the doorknob and called Junie's cell phone.

"Katie! Where are you?" She sounded frantic. "I've been hearing all sorts of things. Are you hurt?"

I rubbed my mouth where Josh had kissed me. "I'm fine. Did you happen to call the police?"

She sighed in relief. "They're on their way. Where are Josh and Agnes? That's her name, right?"

I made a disgusted noise. "They're still in his office, making obscene noises. It sounded like they'd be in there for a while."

"I had to give the phone to the detective so Addy wouldn't get traumatized," she muttered. "Hold on just a second." She spoke to someone in the background and then came back to me. "They're coming in now. Stay where you are until Fred comes to get you."

An unearthly shriek split the air as I was hanging up the phone, and even through Sam's closed door I could hear Agnes' outrages cries. "Get your hands off me! You were interrupting something, you know! I could have you arrested!"

"Ma'am, we're the police. I'm here to arrest your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend! We were just . . . just . . . playing Twister!"

I could almost hear Officer Fredericks roll his eyes. "Naked, ma'am?"

Her reply was cut off by Josh's yell of outrage. "Where is she? Where is that little – "

His words were suddenly cut off. Perhaps someone had knocked the breath out of him. It's too bad it couldn't be permanent.

Fifteen minutes later there was a soft knock on the door. "Katie? It's Oliver. You can come out now."

I pulled the chair away from the door and fell into my brother's arms. He hugged me tightly. "I thought Fred was coming for me," I said in a muffled voice.

"Like he could keep me away. After Junie called her husband she called me. They made me stay behind until they got Josh under control, and then they told me I could come and find you. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

I shook my head. His shirt was wet where my face had been. "It's all right," Oliver crooned, rocking me back and forth. "He can't do anything to you. Let's go home."

Someone cleared his voice. "I'm sorry, sir, ma'am, but you'll have to come into the police station. We need you to make a statement."

I nodded and wiped my eyes. "Mom would be so jealous," I sniffed, feeling suddenly drained. "She's always wanted to solve some mysterious crime. She'll never let me hear the end of it."

Oliver placed his arm around my shoulders and we followed the officer outside. "I hardly think we can keep this from her," he conceded, "but I'll keep her calm as long as I can. Maybe Dad can convince her to stay in Vincennes for a couple of days, give you some time to rest."

I loved my dad, but there was no way he was keeping my mother at home over this. "Whatever you say, Oliver."

***

It was nearly midnight before Oliver and I walked through the front door. It wouldn't have taken so long at the police station, but I'd forgotten to tell them about the tapes and they'd had to run back and pick them up. Then Oliver had thrown a fit when he'd heard Josh threaten me, and it took almost half an hour before he was calm enough to not want to hit every man he saw.

All in all, I thought to myself as I stood in my bedroom, realizing that my suitcase was still in Sam's car back at the office, it'd been a very long day.

I took a long, hot shower, and sat on my bed to comb through my wet hair. Oliver knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," I yawned.

He handed me a mug of hot chocolate and sat next to me. Oliver stared at his hands, only rousing himself when Mr. P ambled into the room and rested his head on my flannel-covered knee. A low rumbling sound came from his throat.

"Do you want to go home?" Oliver's voice was quiet.

I sighed heavily. "I don't know."

We sat there for a while longer and I contemplated what my life had become. "It was so much easier before," I said, rubbing Mr. P's ears gently. "I mean, I lived at home and had a dead-end job. I wasn't doing anything exciting, but I didn't almost get killed, either."

Oliver's shoulder twitched. "Yeah, because your idiot brother didn't force you to go out with a madman back there."

"It's not your fault. It sounded like he'd been planning something for a long time, and I happened to be the one that enabled him to do what he wanted. It could very well have been someone else."

He shook his head in irritation. "Katie, let me deal with my own guilt. I don't want you to wave it away like it was nothing. I should have known he was a creep when he got kicked out of Purdue. And I never should have pushed him on you, especially after you told me you didn't like him."

The silence was so heavy I could hear my heart beating. "Oliver, I – "

"Stop," he said, almost savagely. "It was my fault that he was after you, my fault that he almost raped – maybe even killed you. Stop trying to make me feel better."

My hands started shaking so bad that some of the hot chocolate still in my mug sloshed onto Mr. P's head, and I set it on the floor before I could spill the entire thing. "He kissed me, Oliver. He wanted to know if I was a virgin – "

Before I could get another word out Oliver's arms were tight around me, and I could feel his hot tears on my forehead. "I know," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

We sat like that until my shaking had stopped. When I leaned back against the headboard I wiped my face with the pillowcase and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't think I want to move back home. I mean, it's been a long day, and I really shouldn't make any life-altering decisions, but I like it here. For the most part."

Oliver made a funny noise and lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know about that, but you're right about it being a long day. What have you done this afternoon? You planned a party for two hundred people, got accused of impersonating a senator's daughter, and then got fired. All by three o'clock."

"And then I managed to help foil an evil plot to take over the catering world."

He threw his arm over his eyes. "I seriously think the world would have continued to spin on its axis if you hadn't caught them, Katie."

I thought about that for a minute. "You're probably right," I conceded, "but it made a difference to my world. I couldn't just sit back and watch a bunch of slimeballs get away with that."

I could see a hint of a smile on his face. "There is that. They should make you check your conscience at the door when you walk into a deserted catering company."

I pulled my feet onto the bed and rested my head on my knees. "What would you do? I mean, if you were me."

One of his eyes peeped through his fingers. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Not really, but go ahead anyway."

Staring back up at the ceiling, Oliver frowned thoughtfully. "I think I'd stay. There's a better chance that you'll find another job living here, and Sam just might convince you that he's not a creep."

"He's not a creep." Even I was surprised by how swiftly I came to his defense. "It's not his fault that he doesn't feel as strongly for me as I do for him. And anyway, he'll hardly want to talk to me now. I just turned in his father for bribing someone."

Oliver turned over to look at me properly. "I don't think you're giving the guy enough credit. He probably would have done the same thing if he'd been as smart as you."

I stared at him incredulously. "Could you turn Dad over to the police if you knew he'd done something illegal?"

"You mean besides dismembering innocent cars and putting them through a very slow, painful death?"

"Don't be smart, Oliver."

His eyes on mine, he nodded. "I could. If I knew that what h'd done was wrong, I could do it. And so could you."

I sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He crawled off the bed and leaned over to hug me tightly. "Sleep on it," he advised, ruffling my hair. "I'd love you to stay, but it's your decision. I'll be here in the morning if you need me."

That night I dreamt that Josh was chasing after me with his pants around his ankles, his underwear (pulled up, thank goodness) covered in bright pink racecars. Agnes' voice taunted me as I stumbled through the office. When I finally reached the back door, Sam threw it open and carried me to his car. I didn't even think to ask him how he'd gotten there. Then he drove down the road and got out in front of his house where he dug a hole and planted me in the front yard, like some sort of strange Katie-tree.

I woke up gasping. When I turned over, Mr. P was there, his breath snuffling across my pillow.

I didn't even want to think about analyzing that.

But at least Sam had come for me.

Even in my dream, that had to be a good sign.

**Author's note**: Tremendous thanks to Linnea who helped me get the emotion right in a critical scene and then re-betaed it for me! Now that's dedication.

One chapter to go; feel free to tell me what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

A slow thudding woke me the next morning. Much to my surprise, Oliver was hopping up and down on one foot next to my bed.

"What are you doing?" I asked, squinting at him. He was pulling the strangest face I'd ever seen.

Grunting, he bent down and held his foot. "I think I broke my toe."

"By jumping on one foot?" Maybe I was still dreaming.

He huffed and sank down next to me, his fingers clenched around his little toe. "No, by trying to get that dog to come and eat its breakfast before I leave to get your car." He was interrupted by the sound of a horn outside. "That's Junie," he told me. "She's driving me to the catering company."

I rolled over and tried to find my clock, but it had vanished. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten. You've been asleep for a long time."

Sometimes Oliver's talent for stating the obvious was unreal. "Why did you let me sleep so long?" I yawned, feeling altogether too comfortable to dig myself out from my warm covers.

Oliver cleared his throat. "I thought, given the activities of last night, that you could use a little extra rest."

I rolled back over and flung my arms around him. "You're the best brother I've ever had," I said.

"I'm the _only_ brother you've ever had. Now, let go so I can leave. Junie's waiting outside with the baby." He winced when he stood up but managed to limp around without too much trouble.

"How exactly did you hurt yourself again?" I asked, noticing for the first time that Mr. P was lying quietly in the corner.

An embarrassed look crossed his face and he turned to leave. "I ran into your bed, if you must know," he said huffily. "But before you go and tease me about it, please remember that it happened while I was trying to save you some trouble."

He had a point there. "Thanks, Oliver," I said meekly.

Oliver wrinkled his nose at me. "While I'm gone, take a shower. You smell like dog drool."

Mr. P _had_ been rather clingy the night before, but I wasn't going to complain. "All right," I sighed. "Come on, Mr. P. Let's get you fed and watered and then I'll obey the great Ollinator."

Smirking at me from the doorway, Oliver bowed. "And don't forget it."

Mr. P and I helped ourselves to breakfast, which we munched in noisy contemplation. Mr. P was engrossed in his Sunday morning cartoons, and I was trying to imagine what Sam was doing. Most likely he was still sleeping off the effects of yesterday's party. Part of me hoped he was thinking of me.

I took another long, hot shower – if Oliver complained about the water bill I'd feel justified in telling him it was all his fault – and emerged from the bathroom just as the phone started ringing.

"Hello?" I said absently. Trying to put socks on with a phone stuck in the crook of your neck was proving more difficult than I'd anticipated.

"Is this Katie Embury?"

"Sure is," I replied, still not paying much attention.

"This is Ellen. I work for Senator Embury in his Indianapolis office."

I promptly dropped the phone on the floor, followed closely by the socks. Had Mr. Selman turned me in? Was I going to be arrested for impersonating the senator's daughter? I leaned over to grab the phone and fell off the bed.

Ellen was patiently waiting for me. "I'm sorry," I gasped, wishing I didn't sound quite so winded, "but I could have sworn you said you were from Senator Embury's office."

Her pause was so short I was sure I'd imagined that, too. "I am," she said in a voice that sounded suspiciously amused. "Senator Embury would like to meet with you early this afternoon. He's aware that it's Sunday, but he has to get back to Washington tonight and was hoping you could squeeze him in."

It didn't sound like I was going to be locked up in a tiny jail cell with a bunch of axe murderers, and I felt my shoulders relax a little. "My brother's picking up my car, but I can leave as soon as he gets back," I told Ellen. I'd never been contacted by a politician (or his assistants) before, and I was pretty sure you didn't just ignore it.

"When do you expect you could come in?" Ellen asked. It sounded like she was chewing on a pencil.

As I was opening my mouth to tell her I honestly had no idea I heard the back door bang closed. "I can be there in thirty minutes." Honestly, if I hadn't given up Jane Austen I'd swear I was living in one of her novels. Everything was just happening so conveniently.

Ellen gave me directions, and a few minutes later I was heading out the door. "Where are you going?" Oliver called after my retreating back.

"To see the senator," I yelled back. "I don't know when I'll be back. Thanks for getting my car!"

"What senator?" Oliver demanded, sounding incredulous.

"Embury, of course."

He stood in the door and watched me leave, his head shaking in disbelief. I would have agreed with him, but I was in a bit of a hurry.

Oliver had left the radio on, and the news was just beginning when I drove down the street. "In local news," the radio announced said in a gleeful way, "Peter Selman, founder of Peter's Perfect Catering, was arrested last night on bribery charges. Selman, who recently won a contract that gave him exclusive catering rights to all IMS track events, reportedly purchased a car for a track employee, who in turn arranged the terms of the contract. David Selman, Peter's oldest son, was not available for comment."

I reached over and turned off the radio. So Sam probably hadn't been thinking about me, I mused. At least, he hadn't been thinking about me in a good way. I wondered what would happen to the company now. Maybe they'd fire Agnes.

***

Senator Embury was tremendously polite, and apologized for the misunderstanding of the day before. "I believe your boss fired you because of a mix-up concerning your name," he said, shaking his head.

I started to shrug and then changed my mind. "It's hardly your fault that Katie's such a common name."

The senator cleared his throat. "Actually, it is. My wife and I couldn't decide on a name when she was expecting Katie, and we still didn't have one after she was born. We happened to live near Vincennes then, and when the nurse heard our last name she told us that another Embury couple had named their baby Katie. For the lack of anything better we called her Katie until it was time to go home, and by that time we'd gotten so used to it that we couldn't change it if we wanted to."

I didn't know exactly what to do with this information. "So I'm the original Katie," I said slowly. "And all the confusion has been because you couldn't think of something on your own."

He nodded and sighed. "At that point I had no idea I'd ever be in politics and that adopting your name would be such a problem for you. And now you've been fired. I must confess that I feel slightly responsible."

"How did you know about that?" I asked. "About me being fired because I was the wrong Katie Embury? It's hardly common knowledge."

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me steadily. "After Katie – my Katie – and I met you in the foyer I could tell that something wasn't right. I must admit that I followed you and Mr. Selman through the house, and . . . " He trailed off, looking at me meaningfully.

Did everyone I met have aspirations to be a private eye? "You listened at the door," I finished for him. When he tipped his head in agreement, I sighed. "I guess it was all for the best," I said, half to myself. "I don't know what's going to happen to the company now that Mr. Selman's in legal trouble."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Senator Embury was so serious even his hair didn't dare wave in the breeze from the heating vents. "Tell me what happened."

So I did. I told him about the first time I met Josh, and our subsequent encounters; of the tour at the track, and later of Josh's visit to the catering company. I even told him every nasty thing Josh had said to me over the past two months. "So when I got Junie's text, saying that Mr. Selman had bought the car, I had to figure it out."

"Would you have been as interested in foiling the plot if you hadn't been fired?"

"Yes." I tried to look as serious as he did, but it was hard when you didn't know what the big deal was. "I can safely say that I would have."

The senator smiled slightly. "That's what I was hoping. I've been very impressed with you, Miss Embury, especially after Sam defended you so valiantly."

My throat suddenly became very tight. "He did?"

"He did. It took him a while to figure out that you were missing and then ran around the house searching for you. He was in the middle of pulling a canoe toward the pond when I came across him quite by accident. He said something to the effect that you may have fallen in -- and I explained what had happened."

I felt momentarily bothered. After all, it'd hardly been my fault that the canoe had tipped over in the first place. But it was nice to know that he cared enough to look for me.

"Thank you," I told the senator faintly.

Looking pleased with himself, Senator Embury steepled his fingers together and regarded me for a long time. "I have a proposition for you," he said. "I'd like to offer you a position with my staff in Washington."

I stared at him in shock. "I'm sorry, sir?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "It's not always easy, or comfortable, to do the right thing, and in Washington it's even harder. I've tried to surround myself with people who know their conscience and are willing to follow it, even when those around you tell you you're a fool or that you're wasting your time. I believe you are one of those people that will stick to her morals, no matter the consequences."

I swallowed hard. This would certainly solve my current jobless situation. But I wasn't sure that I wanted to leave Indiana for good.

"Think about it," he said, a note of finality in his voice. "I have to be on a plane in two hours, so I'm afraid I'll have to leave you. Call Ellen with your answer when you're ready."

He stood up and shook my hand. "Again, I apologize for giving my daughter your name. I hope she can live up to it."

I stumbled out of the senator's office, not really registering what had just happened. I drove around on the back roads of Indianapolis and its surrounding communities for a long time without really realizing where I was, finally ending up outside Holliday Park where Mr. P and I had met Junie all those weeks ago. I turned onto my street and walked into the house, hoping to find Oliver.

Instead I found a note. _Went to study on campus. Call me when you get home and I'll meet you somewhere for dinner._ I sighed. It was good to see Oliver hitting the books again, but I needed someone to talk to. Not surprisingly, I got his voice mail.

"Hey, Oliver. I think I'll take Mr. P for a walk. I'll see you when you get home. Thanks for the invite."

At the word 'walk' Mr. Poppikins magically appeared by the back door, his leash clenched hopefully in his jaws. "All right," I said, ruffling his fur. "They don't talk about canine hearing for nothing. Let's go."

The Monon Trail was almost deserted when we got out of the car, probably because the weather had changed overnight from pleasant fall briskness to a cold that hinted of a long winter. I grabbed a jacket from the backseat, tried to brush off most of Mr. P's hairs, and put it on.

I hadn't taken Mr. P to the Monon Trail since that fateful first day when he'd wrapped the leash around me, sticking mostly to the neighborhood sidewalks and Holliday Park for our walks. He trotted next to me, looking for all the world like I'd finally come around to his way of thinking. He sniffed all around like he was looking for something very important. Or tasty. It's hard to tell with dogs.

It didn't take me long to figure out that neither Mr. P nor I were going to get much exercise today, because we ambled along the trail for a long time without getting very far. I'd tried for years to avoid thinking about my future – deep down, I knew that I'd only accepted the position at Uncle Bob's real estate agency and then the one as Mr. Selman's personal assistant because I didn't know what else to do and had been afraid that if I knew what I wanted, I wouldn't get it. Maybe it was time to grow up a little and see what I could do.

The problem was, I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I just knew what I didn't want to be.

But did I want to live and work in Washington? I just couldn't see myself doing that long term. Maybe for a little while, but I was a Midwestern girl at heart.

Mr. P suddenly raised his head and looked down the path. I would have thought that he'd finally found what he was looking for, but we hadn't been here in more than two months. Besides, I didn't think dogs lost things. Couldn't they find their belongings by smell?

When we reached the top of the bridge going over the White River Mr. P, evidently bored now that his treasure hunt was over, sat down and wouldn't budge. No matter how hard I yanked on his leash, he just laid there, tilting his head up to the weak sunshine. Then he looked sharply to his right and barked once.

A second later Sam came around the corner.

He was talking on his phone and raking his hand through his hair, but when Mr. P barked again Sam's head shot up and he stared at me in shock. He flipped the phone closed and stuffed it in his pocket, his movements jerky. The next thing I knew he was in a dead run. He skidded to a halt in front of me, gasping for breath, and gaped at me like he was seeing a ghost.

"Hi, Sam."

Before the words were completely out of my mouth he had his arms around me so tight I was the one gasping for breath.

We stood there for a long time. I listened as his heart rate gradually slowed down and his breathing returned to normal. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd had on for the party, and I could feel his stubbly chin where he'd pressed his face to the top of my head.

"I can't believe I found you."

I could hardly believe it myself. What were the odds that we'd both be wandering down the Monon Trail at the same random time again? If it wasn't fate we were both really, insanely lucky. I wasn't sure which one I preferred.

"I hear you've been busy since I last saw you." For a man who acted like he was never going to let me go his tone was overly casual.

I pulled back so I could look at him properly. "Your dad fired me – "

"I had to hear that from the senator."

Ignoring his pointed look, I continued, "Then Junie and I figured out about Josh and Mr. Selman." I waited for another interruption, but he turned his face away and stared out over the river. "And then I went to your father's office to see what I could find."

Sam stepped around me and leaned against the guardrail, staring at the water gurgling past. "I heard about the rest of your activities in the police station. What I can't figure out is why you left without telling me where you were going? You walked into that building by yourself. Anyone could have followed you in and done unspeakable things to you. And they did!" he exploded, his hands fisting on the bridge. "Weren't you in line when they handed out street smarts in heaven? Do you know what I've been through for the past twelve hours?"

He wasn't exactly shouting, but I'd bet a sizable chunk of cash that the fish swimming below us could hear him pretty clearly. "I'm guessing you weren't dreaming about butterflies and flowers."

He rounded on me, his eyes slightly wild. "Let me tell you what I was thinking. Back at the party, when I couldn't find you, I convinced myself that you were drowned in the pond. Once the senator calmed me down some I thought you didn't trust me enough to ask me to help you. Why didn't you come get me after Dad – after Dad – "

"Fired me?" I suggested angrily, feeling a resurgent bit of Selman-inspired resentment. "Let me go? Decided I was unnecessary?"

Shaking his head impatiently, Sam strode across the bridge and stood there with his back against the rail. "Sure. All those things. Why didn't you come and find me?"

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Was he ignoring the fact that Mr. Selman – his own father – had fired me? Without any reason? I could feel my brows furrowing together. "He told me to get out of the house," I reminded him, my tone icy. "I was surprised he gave me enough time to pack my things before he threw me out himself. He certainly didn't bother to see how I was going to get home," I added. "Hannah had to help me with that."

He made an impatient noise. "I can't believe he'd be so dumb as to think the other Katie would want to work with him and put up with his crap. Didn't you ever tell him who you really were?"

This was going a little too far. "I'm Katie Embury," I said stiffly. "Do you need to see my driver's license as proof? I never lied to him."

I yanked my foot from underneath Mr. P. Strength must come to angry people, I thought bitterly. It was too bad you couldn't get stronger when you were scared out of your wits, too – that would have come in handy last night when I was trying to escape from Josh.

"You had to have suspected something."

Honestly, the man was too infuriating for words. "And just how was I supposed to do that? He never asked about my family, never suggested that I knew people in politics. I didn't even know he thought I was the wrong one! What am I supposed to do?" I snapped, grabbing Mr. P's leash and pulling hard. He looked up at me and yawned. "Go up to everyone that I meet and say, 'Oh, by the way, my name's really Katie but I'm just a plain old boring girl whose name happened to be stolen from her by someone who turned out to be famous later'?"

I knew that didn't make a whole lot of sense but I didn't care. I glared at Sam. "Why are we arguing about this, anyway? Do you resent the fact that I found out what he and Josh had been doing?"

Sam, who'd been listening to all this with his mouth hanging open in shock, suddenly found his voice. "What? He deserves everything he gets. No, I'm not mad about that. I'm mad that you walked into that building last night all alone and that Haskins even thought about laying a finger on you!"

We stared at each other for a loaded minute. Sam was breathing rapidly again, and I couldn't help remembering what Josh had wanted to do to me. "How do you know about that?" I asked quietly. Mr. P sidled over and leaned his head against my knee.

Sam exhaled heavily. "I tried to get your police officer friend to let me listen to the tape, but he wouldn't. Said it was against the law. He did tell me a little about what you'd unearthed in that office, though," he said, just as quietly. "First the part where Dad made that insane deal with Haskins, and then when Haskins – when Haskins – " He looked like he might be sick over the side of the bridge.

My mind refused to revisit Josh's words, but my hand crept up to touch my mouth and I shivered. "They assured me that you hadn't been hurt, that you were just fine," Sam continued, "but as soon as I got out of there I had to find you and see for myself. I've been searching ever since."

I had to hand it to Sam – he was very good at banishing Josh from my brain. I looped Mr. P's leash around my wrist several times and yanked harder. He just sighed and nudged my leg with his nose, and I brushed at him with my free hand. "Why, so you could yell at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you!" he yelled. When I glared at him, he ran his hand over his face and took several deep breaths. "I'm sorry," he said in a more normal tone. "I was worried out of my mind. The police wouldn't tell me where you were, and your car was still in the parking lot. When I went to your house this morning no one answered and I started getting desperate. I didn't know where to go next, so I thought I'd come back to where we'd met the first time and try to figure something out."

"But why?" I cried. "Why go through all this trouble? I would have sent you back the keys to your car – "

Sam made a grunt of frustration. "Forget the car," he said, his words getting louder with every one that came out of his mouth. "I could care less about that stupid car. It can fall in the river for all I care! I was out of my mind with worry because I love you!"

I froze.

Sam, who looked like he wasn't sure how that statement had come out of his mouth, and didn't know what to do about it now that it had, slid his eyes away from mine and shifted uncomfortably. I sucked in a shallow breath and rubbed my forehead, hard. I so wanted to believe him, but the things Mr. Selman had said just wouldn't leave me alone. It would have helped if Sam didn't seem to be regretting his words. "No, you don't." I swallowed and tried to turn away from him, but Mr. P spread out on the sidewalk, resting his head on his paws. He looked like he was ready to take a nap. As soon as I got home I was going to lock him in the laundry room for insubordination. "You just don't."

He took a step toward me. "I do."

When I looked up again the distance between us had closed by half. "You don't," I insisted. Don't cry, don't' cry, I told myself. Whatever you do, don't fall apart now.

"How can you say that?" His voice was incredulous. "Haven't I been fairly obvious? I thought everyone could tell just by looking at me."

"I'm not everyone," I said stiffly. "Your dad told me you didn't want to ask me out that time we went to Mama Carolla's. I know he forced you to do it."

His eyes flashing in annoyance, Sam took another step toward me. I would have backed away, but between the guardrail and Mr. P I had nowhere to go. "He didn't force me to do anything," he said angrily. "I'm a grown man, in case you hadn't noticed."

Oh, I'd noticed, all right, but this was hardly the time to say that.

"He suggested that I should ask you out several times, but I was . . . too cautious, I guess. For all I knew, he'd told you to say yes if I asked, and I didn't want you to go out with me because you thought you had to. And then you'd just been out with Haskins – " He said the name like it'd been covered in slime – "and I wasn't sure if anything was going on or not. But when I saw you sitting there, cleaning that stupid golf club, the words just came flying out. And I'm glad they did."

Huh. "What about the Governor's Ball?" I shot back. "You hardly seemed thrilled when he told me to go with you."

Sam made a strange noise, the kind where if he'd had his mouth open, it would have come out as a shout. "I didn't want you to go with me because you felt you had to!" he cried, advancing another foot. "Weren't you listening before? I wanted you to go out with me because you wanted to, not because you thought that if you didn't you'd lose your job!"

As much as I hated to admit it, he did have a point. When I glanced back up at him his face was mere inches from mine. He placed his hands on the rail on either side of me, his arms tight around me so I couldn't move away. "Does this feel like I don't know my own heart?" he demanded, and the next thing I knew he was kissing me.

If our first kiss had been sweet, this one was anything but. I felt like Sam was trying to pour all his frustrations and worry and relief into that one kiss. It went on for a long time, and when he finally pulled his head away to look at me with glittering eyes I was surprised to find that my arms had somehow found their way around his neck.

"Well?" he asked intently. "Have I convinced you that I know what I'm talking about, or do you need another demonstration?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that I wouldn't really mind another demonstration, regardless of whether I believed him or not, but Mr. P squeezed himself between my legs and the railing, pushing me even closer to Sam. He kissed me again, less desperately this time, and when he lifted his head away I was seeing those flashes of light again.

Maybe it wasn't the flash photography after all.

"Katie, I love you. I have for a long time now. I don't know how to convince you, but I do."

For the first time in almost twenty four hours, I felt a smile tug at my lips. "You do?"

Mr. P brushed against the back of my legs again, and I flapped my hand at him absently.

"I do." I'd never seen Sam so earnest and solemn.

Taking a deep breath, and pushing Mr. P's head away _again_, I grinned up at him. "That's very good news."

"Oh? Why's that?" Sam was grinning goofily back at me.

"Because I love you, too."

This time Sam's kiss was full of promise.

When we finally came to our senses I tried to step back from Sam – and we promptly fell backward into the side of the bridge. It was a good thing Sam caught us with his hands; my back hurt enough without his added weight. "What's wrong with my legs?" I laughed, struggling to plant my feet on the ground. For some reason they weren't behaving properly. "What's going on?"

Sam twisted his head down and started to laugh. He laughed so hard that he couldn't stop for a good long time. "I think that's one of the things I love most about you, Katie," he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's never dull when you're around."

I was starting to feel a little annoyed. I hadn't done anything to him, and I told him so. "All I did was kiss you back, and you didn't seem to think it was funny a few seconds ago."

He took my chin between his hands and pointed my head toward our knees. "It's your blasted dog again," he told me, throwing that wry smile of his at me. "Mr. P tied us together with his leash when we weren't paying attention."

Sure enough, the leash was wrapped around us several times. "I wondered what he was doing, brushing the back of my legs," I said, and started to smile. "I guess we have his seal of approval."

Sam kissed me briefly. While we tried to stand up correctly again, a young woman pushing a stroller trotted past us. She took one look in our direction, snapped closed the visor over her baby, and wheeled around. She gave us a very disgusted look, which made us laugh even harder. By the time we'd unwound ourselves my sides ached so much I had a hard time standing up straight – even without the leash.

***

Sam followed me all the way home because, as he told me half-seriously, he couldn't trust me to stay out of trouble that long.

"I only live five miles away," I protested laughingly. "What could I possibly do in five miles?"

"You never know," was his only response. "Anyway, I need to get your phone back to you. I go a little crazy if I can't get a hold of you."

I thought about this as I drove through the streets. While I appreciated the sentiment, it hardly seemed right to use a company phone when I no longer worked for said company. I wondered if Sam remembered that his dad had bought the phone for me in the first place.

Oliver was waiting for me when Sam and I walked through the back door.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "You didn't say anything in your message about your meeting with the senator! Oh, hi, Sam. Hannah's already here. She's in the sunroom if you want her."

"Hannah's at our house?" I asked in surprise. "Why?"

Oliver got a little pink in the face. "She called me to see where you were," he told me defensively. "It seemed rude not to invite her over when she sounded so worried."

I raised my eyebrows at Sam. "So much for the random meeting on the trail," I said drily.

Sam had come to a halt in the middle of the kitchen. "I was talking to her when I spotted you," he said. "Why were you talking to a senator?"

I tried to laugh disarmingly at his question – didn't people in books do that when they wanted to change the subject without actually changing it? – but it came out more like a gurgle. Sam just raised his eyebrows even higher.

"One of Senator Embury's staff members called this morning and asked if I wouldn't mind meeting with him," I said, twitching my shoulder nervously. I'd managed to forget about that whole meeting while I'd been with Sam.

"Katie!" The next thing I knew Hannah had barreled into the kitchen and thrown her arms around me. "I'm so glad you're okay. Sam told me what he heard at the police station last night. You're okay?"

I felt myself blush. People kept asking me that, like I'd had some sort of near-death experience or something.

Okay, I very well could have. But still. I'd rather that people stopped asking me about it. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm sorry about what happened with your dad."

Hannah had opened her mouth to say something that I was sure was profound, but Sam cut her off. "I'm sure Hannah'll get over the shock. What's this about a meeting with the Senator?"

We turned to him in surprise. Hannah's eyes narrowed, but when she looked between the two of us she did an about-face and grabbed Oliver's hand. "I think I'd like to see your . . . um . . . garage," she told Oliver brightly. "Won't you show it to me?"

"Now? It's kind of cold out there," he objected. "And I want to know what happened at the meeting."

"The garage, Oliver. Now."

Oliver jumped at her tone of voice and followed her meekly through the back door. It had only taken her a week to get Oliver to obey. It had taken my mom years – and my dad still wasn't fully trained.

When the door closed quietly behind them, Sam placed his hands on my shoulders. "Katie. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No."

He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"It's not a big deal," I said defensively. "He just wanted to chat. And he . . . he . . . "

"He what?"

Why didn't I want to tell him I'd been offered a job in Washington? It wasn't like I'd done anything wrong; if anything, it was a huge honor. But for some reason I didn't want to tell him. "He apologized for stealing my name and making my life miserable."

Sam stood there and waited.

"And he might have offered me a job."

His head jerked almost imperceptibly. "Did he, or didn't he?"

I hesitated. "He did."

Sam stared out the window before he said anything. It almost seemed like he was addressing the tree in the backyard instead of me. "What's so bad about that?" he asked lightly. "I like him. He seems like a decent enough guy, even if he does have a horrid daughter."

I took another deep breath. At this rate I'd suck out all the air in the room and we'd have to borrow some from the neighbors. "In Washington."

All the color drained from his face. "What did you say?"

"He offered me a job in his Washington office."

The expression on Sam's face turned into something I didn't recognize. It was almost like he'd placed a pair of reflective sunglasses on his head, the kind that hide what you're really thinking. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around my shoulders. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd have to think about it."

Sam's eyes met mine, and for a fraction of a second I could see panic reflecting back at me. Then it was gone.

Inexplicably nervous, I ducked around him and headed to the sunroom. It seemed like we'd been standing in that kitchen for a small eternity, and I suddenly felt like we needed to finish this conversation sitting down, on something comfortable and warm.

Sam followed me in and sat next to me on the loveseat. He was very careful not to touch me. "So have you thought about it?" he asked carefully, focusing his attention on the view outside.

"I haven't had a whole lot of time," I admitted. "Mr. P and I went to the trail so I could think, but I got a little sidetracked." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't moved.

"Sorry."

Was he? "I'm not." I pulled my legs onto the couch and rested my head on my knees. "I did have time for a little pondering, though. It would be stupid not to take it seriously – I mean, I don't have a job right now, and with the economy the way it is . . . " I let my voice trail off.

"What would you be doing for him?"

That brought me up short. I'd been so surprised by his offer that I hadn't even bothered to ask. "I don't know," I admitted. "I guess I should have been more thorough."

Sam smiled a little at this. "May I give you an alternative?"

I squinted at him. Unless he knew of someone that was hiring – immediately – there wasn't a whole lot he could do. "Knock yourself out."

"I happen to know someone who's looking for a partner in his office, and would like this person to start right away. It might start out very similar to what you've been doing, at least until you learn the ropes. Are you interested in that sort of work, or do you want to try something else?"

Hm. That was a good question. I didn't mind being a personal assistant; it'd been kind of fun, working for Uncle Bob, and besides the Agnes-inspired accidents, life at Peter's Perfect Catering had had its good points. "I might be willing to give it another try," I said cautiously. "No offense, but after your dad I think I'd like to watch the guy first. Assuming I'm hired, of course."

"Oh, I don't think there'd be a problem with that. You probably wouldn't make as much money as you were before; would that be a problem?"

I'd thought from the beginning that Mr. Selman had been paying me an ungodly amount of money, and I told Sam so. "Besides," I added, "it's not like I have a mortgage. Or a rent payment."

"You might eventually."

He had a point. And I was probably going to have to replace my poor, murdered car once George and Bea got back from Japan. "I'm sure I could work something out, if your friend likes me enough."

Sam smiled to himself. "Oh, he likes you, all right."

I suddenly became very suspicious. "Who's your friend? You're not trying to pawn me off on David, are you? Because if you are – "

Holding his hands up in the air, Sam laughed openly. "You must be the densest girl in Indiana," he said. "My 'friend' is me. Dad put me in charge of the business when we were in the police station. So now I need someone to keep me in line. Would you be willing to consider it? It's not as glamorous as living in the nation's capitol, but we have great food, and I'd be willing to throw in an occasional dinner if that'll sway you."

My legs slipped off the couch with a thump. "Are you kidding me?"

His eyes finally meeting mine, Sam shook his head. "I've never been more serious."

"I'd be your personal assistant." I felt like a parrot, but I needed clarification.

"Not precisely. I'd like you to work alongside me, learning the business as you go. You've already got a handle of what we fondly call our logistical nightmare, so the rest should be easy."

I wasn't quite expecting that. "Would I have to go on any golf outings?"

His lips twitched. "Not unless you're a closet golfer."

"Are you still doing all the catering at the track?"

"Not on your life."

I exhaled loudly and sank back into the cushions. "I have one more question. Do you still employ Agnes?"

Sam's eyes flashed. "Not as of this morning. I don't work with saboteurs, especially ones that try to hurt my girlfriend."

A delighted tingle went through me at those words, and I couldn't help beaming at him. Sam grinned back at me, draped his arm across the back of the couch, and propped his legs up on the coffee table. Mr. P, who'd come in sometime during our discussion, raised his head and growled. Sam quickly dropped them back down again. "That dog is the strangest creature I've ever seen. Are you sure he's not a human under some sort of evil spell?"

"I really doubt it. He's too interested in squirrels. Are you going to change the name of the company?"

Laughing, Sam picked up a strand of my hair and ran it through his fingers. "I thought you said you only had one question left. By my count, that's two. I don't feel obligated to answer."

"Sam . . . "

He laughed again. "Fine, fine. I have no plans to change the name, at least not until things have calmed down some." I assumed he meant, 'not until I find out if Dad ends up in jail or not.' "And then it'll depend on what he does with it long-term. If you wait long enough, you could help me think of names."

"Okay."

The fingers stopped playing in my hair abruptly. "Okay, what? Okay, you'll help me think of names, or okay, you'll think about working with me?"

Now who was dense? "Okay, I'll work for you."

Sam made a strange noise in his throat and pulled me into such a fierce hug that I was almost sitting on his lap. "Not _for_ me, _with_ me. When can you start?" I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Maybe my first order of business should be to schedule him a check-up, I thought absently. This couldn't be good for his health.

"Does right now work for you, Mr. Selman?"

Pulling a face, he cupped my chin in his hand. "Please don't call me that. I'm just Sam, no matter what."

"Yes, sir," I said meekly.

He just rolled his eyes and smiled ruefully. "I think you'd better get to work right away," he told me. "Then you won't have any time to bug me with your smart comments."

"I thought you wanted smart coworkers." I fluttered my eyelashes at him in a very dim-witted sort of way.

Groaning, Sam buried his face in my shoulder. "Enough, enough."

I laughed at him outright. "How about, Sam's Splendid Catering? Your catch phrase could be, 'We'll do anything to get your business.' It'd be very appropriate."

"Very funny."

I thought for a minute. "You could always just name it Sam's. I kind of like that."

Sam thought about this for a minute. "How about S & K Catering? That's even better."

I stared at him blankly. "What's the 'K' stand for?"

Looking at me thoughtfully, Sam simply shrugged and leaned in closer. "Am I allowed to kiss my unofficial business partner, or is that against the rules?"

I put my hand on his chest to stop his forward movement. "Are office romances okay? I don't want to get into any trouble."

He pushed my hand away and laced his fingers through mine. "They're perfectly fine. Besides, after that kiss in the paper it's common knowledge that I'm crazy about you."

I smiled. "In that case, you can kiss me anytime you want," I breathed, and closed the gap between us to show him that I meant exactly what I said.

***

Hannah and Oliver emerged from the garage some time later, and if their cheeks were a little rosier than usual, even given the cold temperature, I didn't have it in me to give them a hard time. I did notice, however, that they seemed much chummier in the months after that.

Sam and I officially started working together a week later, and, with Mr. Selman and Agnes gone, the atmosphere changed quite drastically. I might even say that it was a great place to work. (The fact that I'm in love with the president-elect, so to speak, and he with me, hasn't added to that feeling at all, I'm sure.) I tried not to pay attention to what was happening with the bribery investigation, but it seemed like hardly any time had passed before both Mr. Selman and Josh were being formally tried.

My mother invited Sam and Hannah to Thanksgiving dinner with the family, and Sam and my dad quickly became fast friends. (This scared me, I must admit. Why couldn't I have fallen for a mechanic?) It went over so well that we repeated the experience at Christmas and again the following spring around Easter, which is how I found myself watching once again as my car-fixing father and my car-fixing boyfriend holed themselves in the garage, talking shop like they knew what they were doing. I wasn't too sure if this was a good idea; my poor car was still in a million pieces all over the floor. I'd have to start looking for a replacement before too long.

My mother, especially, loved Sam. "This is great, Mrs. Embury," Sam told her enthusiastically over dinner. "I haven't had a real Easter dinner in years." He eyed the distance between himself and the ham. I snorted under my breath and passed it to him – again.

"Didn't your mother cook for your family?" My mom seemed genuinely confused.

Sam shook his head. "No, ma'am. After the divorce we went out for Easter. And Christmas. And Thanksgiving." His voice died away like he'd just realized what he'd said.

She passed the rest of the dishes to him without another word.

After dinner a sulky Josie, along with the rest of us, trooped into the kitchen to clean up. Sam had offered to help but my mom had seen the speculative looks he'd been shooting at my father all through dinner and shooed the two of them out of the room.

Josie and I had been bickering pleasantly about dish-duty when Mom, tilting her head meaningfully in Hannah's direction, suggested that it would be a good idea for me to make sure all my things were out of my old room. "Take Josie with you," she ordered. "She could help you box things up. And Oliver – go watch a baseball game or something. There are too many people in this kitchen."

That was the lamest way to get rid of your children that I'd ever heard, especially since I'd cleaned out said room at Thanksgiving. Oliver threw Hannah an apologetic smile before he ducked through the doorway. I rolled my eyes at her, and was relieved when she winked at me and resumed drying. "I'll be fine," she mouthed, and we left her to my mother's interrogation.

"You realize, don't you, that Hannah may never set foot in this house again?" Josie seemed to think this was very funny. "Dad's in the garage talking to Sam about the nobility of his intentions, and Mom's in the kitchen making sure Hannah won't want to wait forever to start a family. I'm so glad I'm only fourteen."

"Can I quote you on that?" I countered. Josie stuck her tongue out at me.

"Very mature, Josie." A strange feeling of déjà vu niggled at me. Hadn't we had this discussion before?

"Mom's kind of taken over your room," Josie informed me. She seemed very happy at the thought. "I hope you weren't planning on coming back to live here when the Butterworths come back." She flung open the door with an expectant look on her face. "Here you are," she told me cheerfully. "Home, sweet home."

"I don't know why you're so excited about this," I said mildly. "Mom called me a few weeks after Christmas to ask if I minded if she turned my room into her 'project space'."

Josie squashed up her face in a frown and pouted. "You're no fun. For all you know she's given away all your precious books."

I had a moment of panic before I remembered that I'd given up _Pride and Prejudice_ for good. Technically, it wouldn't matter if she'd sent my book to the landfill.

Noticing my worried look before I could hide it, Josie laughed. "Come on, Katie. No one would dream of doing something to your book. In fact, I kept it safe for you." She ran down the hall, and when she emerged from her own room she had an opened box under her arm. "Did something happen last fall? Have you finally decided that Mr. Darcy doesn't really exist?"

When I didn't say anything she adopted a sympathetic look that was as fake as Jessica's bust line. "You did!" she cried. "You've finally moved on! Does Oliver know? I'll have to put an ad in the paper so all your high school friends will know that you've finally seen reason!"

Wait a minute. "How do you know I sent my book back?" I asked suspiciously. "Surely that box didn't come open in the mail. Did you open it? That's a criminal offense, you know."

"Like you'd have the guts to turn me over – " She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes shifting back and forth like she was looking for an escape route. "I just remembered," she babbled, backing down the hall. "I need to work on my chemistry homework."

"On Easter Sunday?" I called after her. There was no reply.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Turning in Mr. Selman had more benefits than I'd expected.

I picked my old copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ out of the box and fingered the pages. I'd spent so much time reading this one book that I'd let it overtake my life. No wonder Jane Austen was such a good writer. I hadn't done that with any other book. Of course, I hadn't read any other book as much as I had this one, but still. That had to say something.

Most of the bedroom furniture had been taken out, leaving room for my mom's work table (I couldn't figure out what kind of project she was working on; it looked like a bunch of handmade Christmas cards gone bad to me), my old, battered bookshelf, and a couch. I placing the book on the shelf next to Austen's other novels and stepped back to regard the collection silently. I still couldn't figure out what I'd been thinking when I'd thought Sam was a modern-day Mr. Darcy. Sure, he was tall and good-looking, and had a certain . . . _Darcy-ish_ look about him, but that was about the extent of the similarities. Sam was too . . . friendly. And non-judgmental. And sweet. And understanding. And he asked girls out on proper dates. And --

Someone knocked on the open door, startling me out of my thoughts. "Hey, Sam," I said absently. "Are you done talking shop with my dad? I'm surprised he let you get away this soon."

He gave me a little smile and sank down on the couch, patting the seat next to him. "He's certainly very enthusiastic about fixing your old car," he told me. "I think you should let me have it the next time it breaks down. I'm sure I could get it back to you much faster."

I hadn't really expected to get it back in the first place, but this was hardly the time to criticize my father's efforts. "I'll do that," I said, leaning into him. Mental note to self, I thought as Sam's arm slid around me. Find a reliable mechanic as soon as you get home.

"I like your parents," Sam said suddenly. "They're very friendly. I can see where you get your personality from."

Not many girls like to be told they're just like their mothers, but I was too comfortable to argue about it. "I'm glad you're not just like your dad," I told him. "I'm not sure if I could date you if you were."

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. "He has his redeeming qualities," he said lightly. "I just can't think of any at the moment, since he's most likely headed for jail in the next few weeks. He did one good thing, though." He shifted in his seat and drew me closer to his side. "He gave me the company to do with as I please. He was going to give it to David – " I could hear the distaste in his tone – "but David's work ethic is a little less than desirable. And whatever he's done, Dad threw his all into the catering business. He couldn't bear to see it disappear because his son wouldn't go in to work every day."

"That's tremendous news!" I cried, sitting up so I could throw my arms around his neck. "Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me earlier? We could have celebrated properly."

"I'm right where I want to be." He turned to me and gazed at me steadily.

I could feel those familiar butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. By now I should be used to this, I scolded myself. But every time he looked at me like that I got all tingly.

"Well, you can hardly call it Peter's Perfect Catering now." I tried to make my tone brisk. "I mean, Peter's hardly perfect."

A slow smile spread over his face. "And Peter no longer works there."

"My point exactly." I crossed my legs on the couch and tried to think. That was hard to do with Sam staring at me like that.

"Any ideas?"

Frowning, I shook my head. "Just stupid ones. How about you?"

Sam took a deep breath, like he was trying to decide what to say. When he let it out again his eyes were as serious as I'd ever seen them – and that included the time he'd first told me that he loved me. "I still like S & K Catering. What do you think?"

I tilted my head and looked back at him, confused. "As in, Scrumptious and Killer Catering? Or maybe it's Super and Krazy Catering, only with the cutesy spelling. I don't know about that, Sam," I said doubtfully. "I don't picture you owning a cutesy company."

He laughed a little and then cleared his throat. "That's not really what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of 'Sam's and Katie's Catering.'"

I sat there and gaped at him. I was sure I resembled a yawning hippo. "That's very sweet of you, Sam," I told him, feeling tremendously flattered – and also a little flabbergasted -- "but shouldn't you name it after you and Hannah? I'm hardly a member of your family."

Sam leaned forward and took my hands in his. "That could change."

The butterflies promptly exploded, leaving me feeling decidedly . . . unsure. "What?"

"I'm asking you to join my family."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Sam, you hardly join a family like you do the circus."

He passed a hand over his face and muttered something to himself. It sounded like he was saying something about dense women. "Katie. Focus. I'm trying to ask you something very important here. I've loved you for so long now that I can't remember not loving you. I can't imagine going through my life without you by my side. I know I have a psycho family, but the normal members all love you to pieces. Katie Embury, will you marry me?"

I just sat there and stared at him stupidly.

"We've only known each other for a few months," I reminded him feebly.

"Seven, to be precise. But I've never been so sure about anything in my life. We can have a long engagement, if you want."

I'd never been a fan on long engagements. The temptation to do something you shouldn't seemed to get stronger and stronger the longer you waited around. "I don't want," I told him decidedly.

Sam's face was suddenly full of hope. "Does that mean you'll marry me? As long as I don't insist on a long engagement?"

I grinned at him, suddenly happier than I could ever have imagined. "I guess I am."

He leaned so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Say it for me?" he breathed. "I'd like to hear you say the words."

I tilted my head so he'd have better access to my lips. "Yes, Samson Selman. I'll marry you."

There was hardly any talk after that.

Later, as we gazed outside my old window, I spied Hannah and Oliver kissing in the backyard. I smiled to myself. I hadn't exactly meant to set them up – well, okay, I had. If I did say so myself, it sure seemed like it was working out splendidly for all involved.

Sam's arms tightened around my waist and he leaned close to my ear. "I love you," he whispered.

I smiled softly. "I love you, too," I replied, and turned my face up for another series of his all-too-addicting kisses. When, sighing in content, I resumed my place in front of the window, my eyes fell on the row of books stacked neatly in the corner.

Nope, I told myself, grinning inwardly. Sam was no Mr. Darcy, and I really wasn't an Elizabeth Bennet. The thought didn't even bother me.

Maybe I was more of . . . an Emma.

The End

_Author's note_: Well, it's all finished. I'd be terribly remiss if I didn't thank Linnea one last time for all her hard work on this thing; it would have been terribly confusing without her help! Also, a huge thank you goes to CJ – who helped me get my facts straight about catering companies.

I'm tremendously grateful to all of you who had read and faithfully commented on this story, especially since Northanger Abbey isn't the most popular of Ms. Austen's books. Thanks so much!


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